


When The Party's Over

by Mintsea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Romance, Auror Harry Potter, Betrayal, Case investigation, Cheating, Draco is good, Draco is good and an Auror (don't @ me), Draco is the comic relief, Everyone is in their late 20s / early 30s, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ginny is hot-headed but loveable, Harry + Ginny are endgame, Harry and Draco are friends, Harry is hurt but loveable, Hermione and Ron are the beacons of sense, Hinny, Infidelity, Multi, Past Harry / Ginny, Personal demons (everyone has them! We go deep on some), Poor Neville is just along for the ride, Post-War, Pregnancy, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Romance, Sex, Sexy Hinny scenes, Trigger Warning: Miscarriage, Trigger Warning: depression, Trigger warning: infertility, Trigger warning: losing a child, Twelve years after the war, Wedding, and kind of annoyingly charming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 61,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25087102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintsea/pseuds/Mintsea
Summary: Post Hogwarts AU. Canon compliant until Deathly Hallows Epilogue. No Cursed Child, but there is a small reimagined element of the Cursed Child plot (you’ll see). Mostly AU.After ten years, golden couple Head Auror Harry Potter and Holyhead Harpies Vice-Captain Ginny Weasley unexpectedly broke up, leaving the Weasley family and gossip columns reeling. But two years later, a chance encounter at a London wizarding bar the week before Ginny's wedding to Neville Longbottom throws the new lives they’ve built without each other into turmoil.As Harry’s career embroils him in a mysteriously new case featuring demons from his past, and Ginny climbs rank at Hollyhead, will these two ever figure out how to fix the hurt they’ve caused each other?A complicated Hinny love story (with poor Neville who’s along for the ride.) Guest-starring Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Gwenog Jones.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 122
Kudos: 85





	1. Don't you know I'm no good for you?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all -- Little note that this story features a lot of talk about a miscarriage / losing a child before it is born and the impact that has on relationships. There is also a smattering of infidelity and depression. I’m not here to glorify or justify cheating on your significant other in any way, but I’m choosing one very distinct side to the story to focus on. I’ve worked really hard to tell this story as realistic and vulnerable as possible. If you’d like to discuss any depictions, please leave me a comment and I’ll be sure to reply.
> 
> A little note about comments -- please please please please if you read, please leave me a comment. I’d really like to hear whatever good or bad you have to say about my writing/plot. Even if it is a thank you, I’d really appreciate it. 
> 
> Cover art -- by me. Title + chapter titles have been inspired by Billie Eilish ‘When the Party’s Over’. The track is an unofficial--official listening for this story.

**1: DON’T YOU KNOW I’M NO GOOD FOR YOU?**

T W O   
Y E A R S   
A G O. 

“Harry?” Ginny calls closing the front door to 12 Grimmauld Place behind her and stepping into the brightly lit hall. She drops her kitbag onto the hall stand where it usually lives after practice, and shrugs off her thermal down jacket, sighing with relief as the warmth from the heater radiates through her cold limbs. 

“In here,” Harry calls from the door on the left and Ginny grins a little with hungry glee as she follows the scent of garlic into what she’d dubbed Harry’s second office — the kitchen. 

Because it’s a Wednesday and the longest and most gruelling training session of the week, the delightful love of her life has her favourite Harry cooked meal of the week, pumpkin gnocchi, cooking away and a chilled bottle of wine ready. 

Ginny saunters into the kitchen to find Harry barefoot and dressed in sweatpants and his favourite navy tee with the silver DMLE logo on the back, stirring the gnocchi on the stove by hand, his hair messy and rugged after a day in the field. She leans on the door jamb and sighs at the sight wistfully, making Harry smile. 

“What?” Harry asks with a grin, turning down the heat on the stove, and turning to look at her.

“Just like looking at you is all,” Ginny says with a playful shrug of her shoulders, before stepping into the kitchen and cuddling up behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her face pressed into the tall expanse of his back, as he continues cooking dinner. “Hi,” she says tenderly pressing a kiss to his shoulder and he grins, linking one set of fingers through hers on his chest. 

“Hi. Hungry?”

“Very,” she teases, running her hand smoothly down the front of his chest, stopping at the waistband of his sweatpants, her fingertips lifting the hem a little on his tee so she can place her cold hands directly on his warm skin. 

Harry chuckles. “Dinner first...” he tells her, and then turns around, capturing her between his arms. 

On cue, her stomach growls, and Ginny rolls her eyes at Harry’s raised eyebrows.

“The little Quaffle seems to agree,” she acquiesces, rubbing her stomach. 

Harry smiles a blissfully happy smile at the mention of the eight-week-old baby inside her still flattish stomach. He crouches a little so he is closer to the growing baby, and gently caresses her tummy, rubbing his hand across it a couple of times before he presses a soft kiss there. 

“Did the little Quaffle give you much trouble today?”

Ginny frowns a little, knowing she’s not going to have the answer he wants. “A tiny bit. Didn’t keep my lunch down for long, and I felt a bit dizzy at practice...”

“Gin,” Harry warns with exasperation, looking up at her sternly. 

Ginny grins brightly, her cheeks still red and rosy from the cold wind outside, her hair swept over one shoulder in a long braid. “Harry, I had Arlington clear me, it’s okay. I’ve been training six days a week for nine years. I’ve got a little more time up my sleeve.” She touches his cheek softly, and he moves his head slightly so he can press a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Besides, Jones benched me this afternoon, after your little ‘chat’ with her on the weekend...”

Ginny cards her fingers through his hair. Harry breathes a deep sigh of relief, one which earns him a stern glare from Ginny, who hadn’t been too perturbed before but was now seeing the sheer relief in her boyfriend of ten year’s face.

“Something to say, Potter?” She asks smartly, her tone edged with teasing.

Harry stands and wraps his arms around her waist.

“I’m just...a little relieved to tell you the truth, Gin...I know you are exhausted...” He’s about to follow up with a recount of how much her sleep has been impacted by the all-day morning sickness, and how she might be cleared by the team doctor but that didn’t stop him from worrying about her every time she got on a broom right now...but he doesn’t have to. Ginny heaves a resigned sigh, snuggling into his embrace a little. 

Ginny hadn’t realised until she’d laid on the treatment table this afternoon, Arlington waving his wand across her body taking her vitals while she closed her eyes, that she was in-fact utterly exhausted. 

“I’ve never been more tired in my life,” she admits in a whisper, and the fact that she’s barely saying it aloud makes Harry grin. He pulls her closer, sliding a hand gently under her chin to tilt her lips towards his and kisses her softly, tenderly, with complete love and adoration. 

“I don’t want to say I told you so but...” he teases, earning himself a half-hearted poke in the chest from her that makes him chuckle. 

“Oi, no one likes a-know-it-all, Potter,” she sasses, and he pinches her bum affectionately, making her squirm before he reluctantly lets her go, moving back to the gnocchi. 

Ginny smiles widely, feeling spoiled as she surveys the table he’s laid out for her with candles, the fine china her Mum had brought them when they’d moved in together less than a fortnight after she finished at Hogwarts, and two large wine glasses. Their favourite bottle of red is open and airing, something Harry will tuck into later, but she notes that he’s even put a jug of something else out, this one under a warming charm and smelling sweet and divine. 

“What’s this?” She asks, gesturing to the jug of something homemade and cinnamon.

He turns briefly, sees what she’s pointing at, and then turns back to dinner sending some dirty dishes into the sink and casting a charm for them to clean themselves. It smells amazing, and while Harry’s calling is 100% with the Aurors, there is something so natural at seeing him at home in the kitchen with and without magic.

“Non-alcoholic mulled wine for you. Thought it would warm you up after being out in that rain. Made it just the way you like it with some orange and cinnamon...” 

Ginny grins sidling up beside him, letting Harry pull her into a one-arm hug as he stirs dinner. “You did? Thank you. Knew there was a reason I kept you around.” She sniffs the air and groans approvingly making him smile.

“Aside from knocking you up?” He jokes, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“You look very proud of yourself when you say that. Can’t wait for Mum to wipe that smile off your face at Christmas when we tell everyone. The first Weasley grandchild born out of wedlock...stop dragging your feet on the proposal Potter.” 

“I am proud of myself,” Harry replies with a smile, finally turning the heat off, signifying dinner is about to be ready. “And your Mum loves me, so we’ll be fine. Getting you to finally agree to have my baby has been a long term negotiation. The baby isn’t due for another six-plus month and I’m not rushing anything, especially not a proposal. Besides, it’s on the cards eventually...”

Ginny grins. “Eventually? Romantic Harry, thanks.” 

Harry turns, grinning at her, his arms folded cockily against his chest. “See, that’s the problem. It has to be exactly right, or you’ll drag me about for the rest of our lives.” 

Ginny chuckles and steps back a little so he can finish plating up and setting a warming charm on the pot. He’s so damn hot when he’s like this. Carefree and relaxed. Well, as carefree and relaxed as the infamous Harry Potter can be. Ginny suddenly couldn’t care less about dinner.

“It’s not like it was _hard_ to knock me up anyway...we’ve been practising for years...” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows on _hard_ and edging back towards the long sturdy kitchen table that had been in this house for decades. Harry faces her, crossing his arms against his chest nonchalantly, his wand still in hand.

“Hey,” he bites teasingly at her joke, “we both know It was _very hard,_ thank you very much...”

Ginny grins, knowing her words had their intended effect of piquing his interest. She eases herself slowly onto the kitchen table at a safe distance from Harry’s place setting. He watches her carefully, knowing where this is going and fully committed to the adventure with just one smouldering look from her.

“Well then, wanna start practising for baby number two?” Ginny asks, waggling her eyebrow seductively at him before pulling the lilac Molly Weasley knitted jumper up and off over her head. 

Harry’s eye fix on the white sports bra and new expanse of cleavage that’s become a novelty for both of them. She isn’t showing yet, but Ginny’s breasts are definitely a couple of cup sizes bigger than they were two months ago.

Harry stalks towards her.

“I thought you said you were tired?” He asks, stepping in between her knees. However before he can lean down to kiss her, she’s leaning up to wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him close. Harry buries his face in her neck, his lips tracing along her jawline enticingly.

“I was, but this...” she says, sweeping her hand about the clean homely kitchen and beautiful dinner, and then to him, “has got me a bit turned on if I’m being honest, Potter. It shouldn’t be surprising.” 

“Ah yes, the house husband fetish,” he laughs, before capturing her lips in a heated kiss. 

That and Ginny was always a bit frisky after a training season. 

“Now, get your kit off,” she tells him, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, trying to start to undress him. She helps him remove it, minding his glasses, and flings it somewhere behind her, taking in his beautifully toned and scared chest from ten plus years of Auroring. Her mouth traces his largest and her most favourite of scars with kisses—the locket shaped scar near his heart —making his skin break out in goosebumps. 

“Upstairs?” He asks, fingers skipping over the top button of her jeans and loosening it, but Ginny shakes her head. 

“Too far...right here,” she tells him between kisses, before pushing him back a little so she can stand and shimmy off her unbuttoned pants.

It’s frantic work and he watches intently, doing nothing yet to remove his own pants, just staring at her adoringly as she strips down to her underwear. He steps in closer once the jeans are gone, lifting her back onto the table and eliciting a giggle from her as he presses himself against her. 

“Hi,” he says softly, eyes full of desire for her and she grins cheekily knowing she’s about to be well and truly worshipped. 

“Hi,” she says, closing the distance between their lips, luring him in for another passionate kiss. 

“God you’re beautiful,” he says, fingers finding purchase on the torso of her bra. “Arms up.”

She complies and he gently peels the fabric off her, her breath stuttering a little as he discards it without breaking eye contact with her.

“I love when you look at me like that....” she tells him, and Harry cocks his head a little in question. “Like I’m the most important thing in your entire world...”

“You _are_ my entire world, Gin.” 

In true Ginny fashion, she wrinkles her nose a little, bound to make him chuckle in even their most tender of moments. 

“Don’t tell Robards...he’ll be even more annoyed with me. Pulling his best Auror, the _Head Auror_ , away from the department for a year of parental leave has not put me in the good books. He was downright gruff with me when I visited you for lunch on Monday...”

Harry laughs, tucking some hair behind her ear tenderly, and tracing the shape of her cheek with his palm softly. 

“He’s always like that, and he already knows you’re my entire world, Gin. I wake up from Stunning Spells with your name on my lips every single damn time. The whole department knows I’m utterly _whipped_ by Ginny Weasley and have been for a very long time.” 

Ginny laughs as Harry’s lips press to her own again, demonstrating just how whipped he is.

# # #

T W O   
Y E A R S   
L A T E R.

“ _Potter_ ,” Gawain Robards, Head of the DMLE, growls across the bullpen of desk cubicles heading Harry off as he’s about to enter his office on his way back from an interrogation. Three Auror Leaders in tow. “A word?”

He gestures for Harry to join him from the doorway of his office and then returns to his desk, taking a seat in the worn leather chair. 

Harry gives his team an apologetic smile and a nod indicating they are dismissed before he straightens his jacket and heads towards Robard’s office. He passes Hermione’s tidy and vacant office on the way and tries not to rolls his eyes at his friend, technically his superior as Deputy Head of the DMLE, who continues to make Harry’s organizational skills look bad even when she’s not in the building.

Harry closes Robards’ office door behind him.

“Everything okay, Boss?” He queries, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible as he leans on the back of the visitor’s chair in front of Robards’ desk. 

“Rodolphus Lestrange,” Robards replies gruffly as if the name alone explains everything. 

Harry’s brow knits when Robards doesn’t elaborate. They were both at Lestrange’s trial after the War, but there has been little need to talk about Lestrange in the past twelve years.

“Yes, sir? What about him.”

Robards leans back in his chair, elbows resting on the armrests and fingers steeped thoughtfully in front of him. 

“We’ve had him moved to the MaxSec ward at St Mungo’s...he didn’t pass his psych eval.”

Harry raises his eyebrow. “Not many former Death Eaters _do_ pass their psych evaluation.” 

Robards frowns. “This is different. He’s…” Robards searches for the right word, ” _cracked._ He’s been in Azkaban for nearly twelve years and shown little sign of remorse or trauma from the war. But in the last few weeks, he’s started acting odd. The guards and Aurors on patrol have noted that he’s started exhibiting obsessive and compulsive behavioural tendencies, and...he’s started talking to himself with little coherence for the current time and place.” 

“Sir, _respectfully_ ...are you sure he isn’t playing it up? I saw Lestrange only a few weeks ago at Azkaban. He sent some choice _coherent_ words my way through his cell door which I had no qualms returning. He seemed to remember his hatred of me just fine.” 

Robards’ mouth twitches at Harry’s nonchalance. He’d taken taunts from former Death Eaters into his stride long ago. 

“No, but if it is an act, it’s becoming a convincing one. He believes he is still a Death Eater, that it’s 1998 and Voldermort is working hard to find you. It’s like the war and the past twelve years haven’t happened for him yet. We’ve been monitoring him closely over the past 72 hours and he’s revealed some information about Voldemort that never came up in the trials and if his incoherent ramblings are true, he might _actually_ have lost his mind…”

Harry’s eyebrows raise; mostly because why as Head Auror is he only hearing about this from Robards now and not...say more than 72 hours ago? “What’s he saying?” 

Robards swallows thickly. “That Voldemort is rumoured to have fathered a child...” 

Harry frowns, sitting down in the visitor’s chair across from Robards and making himself comfortable by unbuttoning his jacket. “Sir, those rumours have circulated for years at one time or another as a catalyst for the blood supremacists. There has been no definitive proof...it’s nothing more than rumours...”

“...with Bellatrix Lestrange.” 

Harry blinks, not quite knowing how to react to the new information at hand. 

“Lestrange,” Robards continues, “is adamant that Voldemort fathered a child with Bellatrix before the Second War. That he knew about it and supported his wife’s desires to give Voldemort an heir. Lestrange has been muttering about protecting the heir...that _she_ must be kept safe....”

Harry pauses. Bellatrix’s admiration and dedication for Voldemort had bordered on obsession. Giving Voldemort a future heir would have cemented her place as his most loyal follower. But if Bellatrix had been pregnant at all surely someone else would have known? Surely Draco, who’d spent a great deal of time since the war repatriating for his crimes first as an informant and then an Auror himself would have known and mentioned any potential cousin was Voldemort’s heir. Especially if he had been in Voldemort’s inner circle himself at the time. 

“Is there any proof?”

Robards frowns. “Not yet, and that’s why I’m telling you. Right now it is just rumours from a crazed former Death Eater, who is admittedly quite sketchy on the finer details. Nevertheless, Potter, I want you to investigate it. Off the books mind––until we have some small bit of proof–– with Malfoy. I know we all had our reservations about Malfoy when you wanted to bring him into the team officially. He was an excellent informant. He excelled at the Academy and he’s become an excellent Auror under your tutelage. The two of you and your close personal history with Voldemort have the best chances out of anyone to find out the truth...”

But Harry had made up his mind the moment Robards had mentioned Voldemort’s name. And Harry knew Robards knew that too. 

“You don’t have to talk me into it, Gawain. I’m in. And I’ll talk to Malfoy. When can I see Lestrange?” 

Robards smiles. “Monday. 2 pm. They want to keep monitoring Lestrange over the weekend. I want him to stay at St Mungo’s under observation as long as possible. If he feels more comfortable, I’m hoping he’ll split and give us more information.” Robards hands Harry a charmed business card with the name of the Healer in Charge, Cho Chang, written on it and her office details. 

Harry nods and stands, buttoning his jacket, tucking Cho’s card in his pocket. He already has her details, knows that the colour of her bedroom walls are painted a soft light blue, but he’s not about to admit that he knows Cho well to Robards. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thank you. Hermione will be back Monday so we can loop her in. I’m hoping she’ll run interference with the Minister’s Office while you investigate. I don’t want to talk to Kingsley yet until I know more. He knows he’s been moved, but that’s it. Once the name Voldermort starts circulating through these halls…”

“Panic and speculation follow. You have my discretion, Gawain.” 

“Thank you, Harry.” 

Harry makes to leave and is almost at the closed office door when Robards says gently, “Harry, I know the cases with children are exceptionally hard for everyone but if this is going to stir up anything for you _specifically_ you’d prefer to keep buried—”

Harry frowns, turning towards Robards confidently. 

“Gawain, I’m fine.”

Robards takes him at his word, nodding his approval for Harry to leave. 

“Good. Potter, I shouldn’t need to stress that if Voldemort does have a child out there somewhere, how important it is for us to both know and _protect_ that information. Keep me informed every step of the way...” 

“Will do, Sir.” 

# # #

Harry sighs deeply with frustration as he returns to his office and stops in the doorway, the little gold nameplate on his desk with _H J Potter: Head Auror_ purposely dishevelled by the person sitting in his chair.

“Hey,” he says loudly, gaining Draco’s attention as he looks up from his position behind Harry’s desk, expensive black dragonhide loafers perched on top of a month’s worth of paperwork as he thumbs idly through a folder he’d brought with him. “Shoes off.”

Draco compiles but grins, his smile much more mischievous these days than the snivelling and conniving one he’d had twelve years ago. If someone had told him back then that he and Malfoy were going to be good friends, Harry would have asked for a St. Mungo’s issued psych evaluation. And probably the name of the Fire Whiskey they’d been drinking. But it turns out, that’s how things were. And when life gives you lemons...you ask a former Death Eater now an employee and temporary housemate (long story) if he knows anything about his psychotic dead aunt’s sex life with the most deadly dark wizard to have lived. What a Friday.

“My shoes are _cleaner_ than your desk, Potter.”

“You're not wrong,” Harry admits, frowning only slightly as Draco knocks a quill off the table with his elbow and onto the floor. It flies back into place on the desk with a wave of Harry’s wand. 

“What did Robards want?” Draco queries, not moving from the seat and prompting Harry to slump into the visitor’s chair across from him. “Anything interesting? Keep in mind I’ve been logging surveillance and tracking hours all week on Lynch’s case and am dying of boredom.” 

Harry scratches a hand through his perpetually messy hair and closes the office door with a flick of his wand. “How well did you know your Aunt and Uncle? Bellatrix and Rodolphus. _Really_ know them?”

Draco’s brow knits slightly, his smile dropping a little. He leans forward in his chair, tucking his legs under Harry’s desk.

“Enough to fear and loath them in equal measure as a kid. Honestly, Bellatrix as you well know was bat-shite crazy. And Rodolphus made my father look like a saint–and we’re both well aware his Azkaban files say he wasn’t.” He cocks his head at Harry curiously. “Why? Bellatrix has been dead for over a decade and Rodolphus is rotting away in Azkaban with my father.” 

Harry considers Draco for a moment, weighing up his approach. He’d witnessed first hand how sadistic and abusive Bellatrix could be. There was no doubt in his mind that Draco, after failing to kill Dumbledore, and what Harry had seen at Malfoy Manor during the war, had been on the receiving end of that abuse himself. It was all laid out in Draco’s personnel file in the bottom drawer of Harry’s desk, but at this moment, looking at his friend and not his childhood enemy, Harry wondered if getting Draco involved was really the right approach. 

“How loyal were they to Voldemort?”

Draco frowns.

“I know the testimonies from the other trials, even yours Draco,” Harry continues, albeit with less gusto than before. “I’m purely interested in what you remember now, after years of reflection.” 

Draco sighs and leans back in the leather chair, drumming his index and third finger on his lips pensively. He almost looks like he won’t answer until Harry prompts gently. “Humour me, _please_.” 

Draco sighs. “They were _very_ loyal Harry, you know they were. Bellatrix revered him so much it was sickening. Rodolphus, and his brother Rabastan, were almost as fanatical ––but they _feared_ him. Rodolphus feared him. I think Bellatrix was more afraid of Voldemort _not_ being in power and that she’d end up back in Azkaban and fade away from the spotlight. She enjoyed the theatrics of it, the notoriety that came from being crazy and inherently evil. She was his right hand and she _loved_ it.”

“Did they ever, you know—?” 

Draco smiles. “Potter, you’re thirty years old, Head of the Auror Office and 150 Aurors. And sure you might not be getting much these days despite your bachelordom, but surely you can at least say the words…”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Fine. _Fuck_ . Did they ever... _fuck_?” 

Draco laughs. “Oh without a doubt. The stuff of nightmares really. Bellatrix and Rodolphus had an open relationship. Marriages of convenience often do.” 

“Why did you never say anything? Why did none of the Death Eaters ever mention Bellatrix and Voldermort’s relationship at trial?” 

Draco shrugs. “Because it wasn't a relationship and then fucking wasn’t particularly relevant amid the people the tortured and killed? Plus, no one needs to think seriously about Voldemort’s sex life. Bellatrix was insane. Legit insane,” he holds up his hand and points to four small dot-shaped scars on the back of his right hand. “She once stabbed me with a fork at dinner because she was bored. And I was on her side.” Draco heaves a deep sigh. “Why do you want to know all this? What’s Robards put you on?”

Harry raises his eyebrows and Draco rolls his eyes at him. “This isn’t a casual chat Potter, that much is obvious; what’s going on?” 

Harry leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he asks softly, “Do you think it’s possible that Bellatrix and Voldemort ... _procreated_?”

Draco looks back at him horrified. “You think there is a Bellatrix / Voldemort child running around out there plotting another war?”

When Harry doesn’t reply, just sits patiently waiting for Draco to answer his question, picking a piece of lint off his suit, Draco growls, appearing the most ruffled Harry’s seen him in years. 

“I fucking hope there isn’t. But, for the record Potter, to the best of my knowledge as a former Death Eater and member of the inner circle, Bellatrix Lestrange was never pregnant nor had a child. Not in the time she lived at Malfoy Manor from December 1996 to May 1998.”

“So it could have happened before? In our fifth or sixth year, while you were at Hogwarts? Or even during the first war, maybe?” Harry presses.

Draco makes a face. “I mean, I guess? But my family were blood supremacists. And in Voldemort’s inner circle. If there was a baby, we’d know. I’m sure of it.” But from the look on Draco’s face, Harry’s not entirely certain Draco’s that convinced. Because even if they were blood supremacists, the Malfoy’s proved their disloyalty too many times to be fully trusted by Voldemort.

“Lestrange has been moved to St Mungo’s. MaxSec, high care,” Harry continues. “He failed his psych evaluation.”

“I’m not surprised he’s finally cracked up.”

“He’s saying Voldemort fathered a child with Bellatrix. A daughter. An _Heir_.”

“And you think the rumours are true,“ Draco surmises. 

“I don’t know what I think yet. But I’m going to investigate it anyway. Do you want to help me?”

Draco considers the question. “Can I stay in the Rickards case with Lynch?”

Harry nods. The Rickards case meant a lot to Draco and was an ongoing investigation. He’d worked it for four months straight. Harry wasn’t about to force him to give it up. “Yes. The Lestrange case is closed book and off the record. Just you and me for now.”

Draco smiles. “Guess I don’t have much of a choice then, huh _Boss_?” 

Draco gets to his feet and gathers the file he’d been reading before Harry arrived. He’s shuffling the papers back into the folder when Harry speaks again. 

“Draco, we’ll have to talk to your parents. We’ll have to interview them.”

Draco nods, the sadness crossing his face momentarily before he shakes it off. “Yeah, I figured. Just don’t leave me in a room alone with my father and we’ll both keep our careers. Deal?” 

Harry nods. “Deal.” 

Draco tucks the file under his arm, checking his wristwatch as he moves. “Listen, it’s 7’oclock and it’s a Friday night. Can we go to the pub now? I need a lot of alcohol to deal with the fact I’m about to investigate my sadistic family’s sexual secrets.” The humour is back in his tone and Harry chuckles. 

“Best plan you’ve had all week,” Harry teases. “The Castle or Leaky Cauldron?”

Draco adjusts the cufflink on his impeccable suit, and Harry would be amiss if he didn’t note that Draco was preening a little. 

“Let’s try somewhere new. You’ll hate it, but it’ll do you some good.”

# # #

It’s late, almost the end of a long night, when it happens; when Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley inexplicably end up in the same time, place and orbit for the first time in a _really long time._

The Apothecary, a new popular wizard bar hidden behind the facade of an old muggle pharmacy on Upper St in Islington and only a short walk from Grimmauld Place, is Draco’s final stop of the night on his ‘Get Potter Drunk and Laid’ tour. 

So far, despite his best efforts, and Harry’s cheery insistence that he doesn’t need, want or require Draco’s help, Malfoy has been largely unsuccessful. Harry’s only had four beers, and while a number of witches have approached him, each conversation has ended with a good mannered laugh, a smile and zero sexual prospects. Which Draco is starting to find a bit annoying. Women throw themselves at Harry constantly; and he’s always so uninterested in it. 

“You’re so damn stoic Potter, it’s annoying,” Draco laments from their booth toward the front of the club, amid a loud boisterous dancefloor and a club packed with witches and wizards. The music’s stupidly loud, so Draco had cast a volume charm around so they could talk without yelling over some tricked up versions of some Weird Sister’s classics which were popular again.

Harry laughs, finishing off the last mouthfuls of his fourth beer. “I don’t need your help finding someone to shag Draco. I do well enough on my own.” 

Draco rolls his eyes. “Come on mate, you’ve been with one woman since Ginny. One woman in two years, and that’s only recent. You’ve slept with two women your entire life. Aren’t you, you know... _pent up?_ It’s well known you and Weasley used to shag like rabbits.” 

“It’s not _‘well known’_ at all, and even if we did...Gin and I were together for ten years. I’m not looking for anything right now.” 

Draco grins. “Does Chang know that?”

Harry frowns. 

“What?” Draco shrugs. “I saw you two having lunch the other day at the cafe across from the Ministry. And you said you had a late patrol last Thursday, but I know you weren’t rostered on because Lynch told me Friday morning that he’d been in charge and on a double shift.” 

Harry sighs, flattening his messy hair with the palm of his hand. His lunch with Cho was a lot more innocent than Draco believed it to be. They’d remet over the Summer just gone after Teddy had broken his arm playing Quidditch with Harry in Andromeda’s backyard. Cho had reset and healed Teddy’s break. And then he and Cho had run into each other a few more times over the past few weeks and before he knew it, they’d slept together less than a handful of times. The relationship didn’t have a label, neither of them really wanting to define it. Cho herself had just exited a long term relationship and moved back to London from Edinburgh where she’d been working privately as a Healer in a practice owned by her former girlfriend. The relationship had ended badly and Cho had moved back to London and St Mungo’s where she had completed her medical training. 

“Cho and I both aren’t really looking for anything right now. And, I’d appreciate your discretion about anything that has happened with Cho and I, because she’s Healer In Charge on the Lestrange case. As far are Robard’s knows, Cho and I are strictly professional acquaintances.” 

“Right, no talking about Chang or Lestrange. I’m going to need to start taking notes.” Draco says, sneaking a look at his watch. 

“You know as a third-year Auror that’s 80% of your job right?” 

And Draco rolls his eyes. He certainly does. “Right, well, if you’re a lost cause this evening then I am going to go to Astoria’s. You might not be looking for a shag tonight, but I am.”

Harry chuckles and they stand from their booth, the volume charm breaking and the loud music pouring over them. 

“I’ll see you later,” Harry tells him, pointing to a hall alcove with bathrooms on their right. “Say hi to Astoria for me.” 

Draco waggles his eyebrows mischievously. “Don’t wait up Potter, I might not see you until Monday.” 

“Thank fuck, I’ll enjoy having my house to myself for the weekend!” Harry calls as Draco makes his way through a throng of witches and flips him off as he disappears into the crowd. 

Harry makes plans in his mind for the weekend ahead as he heads to the bathroom. _He’s got a shit-tonne of paperwork on his desk to go through...a game of Quidditch he wants to watch on his enchanted flatscreen...maybe he’ll also hit the gym for some practice_? He considers all his options as he heads towards the men’s bathroom door, but as he’s approaching a young redhead exits from the adjacent women’s loo, and before Harry has time to pay too much attention to her, a large gold sequinned clutch slips out of her hands, skids across the floor and lands at Harry’s feet. They both unexpectedly bob to pick it up, and then WACK…bump heads extremely painfully, the crown of Harry’s head colliding hard with the redhead’s nose. 

“Fuccck!” Ginny Weasley groans in pain, clutching her face, and Harry instinctively pulls his wand to help her but instead finds himself standing dumbly in front of his former ex-girlfriend, clutching at his own rattled head with the hand holding her bag. 

“Gin?” 

“Harry?” 

A moment passes between them, and it catches Harry’s breath if he’s being entirely honest; he hasn’t been in the same room as her for so long that she almost feels like a mirage. 

Her long red hair is swept over her shoulder in an elegant braid to hold a flashing crown declaring _“Bride to be”_ on her head. She is dressed in a white and gold long-sleeved mini dress that catches the bright multi-coloured lights that twinkle around the room. 

It starts with a pinprick of goosebumps across the back of her neck, but then Ginny finds herself unable to break eye contact with the tall man with messy black hair, a short dark beard, and black thin-rimmed glasses she’d share ten years of her life with.

Ginny groans, hand over her nose and pain radiating through her face, the taste of blood in her mouth from where she’d bitten her tongue during the collision. “Fuck, your head is as hard as stone...” she groans, then realises her nose is bleeding. She tips her head back to try and stop the blood dripping on her dress and the floor and tries not to feel self-conscious about the way Harry is just staring at her. “My bag?” 

Harry feels like his limbs are moving through thick molasses as he slowly hands her the bag. And then he’s shaking off the daze and stepping forward. 

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” He asks, and she lowers her chin to look at him. Her nose is still obscured by her hand, but her eyes are twinkling back at him. 

“I think you broke my nose…” she laughs. 

“I was trying to help…” he says with a smile, rolling his wand anxiously at his side through his fingertips. 

“I know. You didn’t, you made it much worse.” 

Harry gestures for her to tip her head back a little again. “How bad is it? Can I see?” 

She almost breathes his name aloud, in a wash of panic and unexplainable relief, but she has enough sensibility to just plainly nod, and allows him to light his wand with soft light and step closer to survey her bleeding nose. She pulls her hand away gently, wary she’s starting to drip blood everywhere, and Harry frowns down at her. 

“No fracture…” he surmises softly. “I think you’ve just bumped it really hard. Episkey should stop the blood...” 

“Fuck…” Ginny says, tipping her head back, and the crown that had been so secure all night betrays her and falls on the floor behind her. 

“I’ll get it.” Harry clears his throat anxiously and crouches to pick up the Hen’s Night paraphernalia. “I can stop the bleeding if you like-?“

“Would you, mind?” Ginny asks softly. “I mean, you’ve always been better at this kind of thing than me. Auror training and all.” 

Harry nods, and he gestures to the woman’s bathroom. He holds the door open for her and she steps inside, slightly relieved that it’s fortunately empty. Harry ushers her towards the sink area, places the crown and her bag down on the hard surface and locks the door with the wave of his wand from across the room. 

Ginny raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t say a word. Harry places his wand on the vanity and steps closer. He takes a handful of paper towel from the dispenser, soaks it quickly under the tap and then steps closer to Ginny. 

“May I?” He asks in a cautiously but soft voice, one that honestly sounds strange coming out of his mouth. 

Ginny nods and reluctantly lowers the hand she’s been using to try and stem the bleeding away from her face. 

Harry realises her engagement ring, a small princess cut diamond set into a silver band, is streaked with blood. His stomach drops and a cold wash of disappointment settles on him.

Harry gently, pointedly not looking her in the eye, mops the blood from around her nose so he can look at the area more carefully. He feels guilt line the pit of his stomach, knowing it is entirely his fault that she’s covered in blood. 

He’s quiet as he works, and while he is very reluctant to look her in the eye, Ginny watches him carefully, the way his touch is featherlight, and no part of his skin, touches hers. He uses the paper towel and is gentle and kind, but his face is shuttered behind a stoicism that makes her feel sad. 

Once he’s cleared away some blood and uses his basic field Auror medical training to assess the situation, Harry reaches for his wand. 

“You ready?” He asks, and Ginny, no stranger to pain, heaves a deep fortifying sigh, before nodding. 

She closes her eyes, her long eyelashes fluttering shut, painted long dark ebony against her creamy freckled cheek. 

Harry adjusts his grip before pointing his wand at her nose. “Episkey.”

Ginny’s nose heals in an instant. She winces as the healing charm sends a wave of warmth through her, radiating from the tip on her nose, to the tip of her fingertips. Once the wave is gone, she breathes a deep sigh of relief, sending clear air through her nose and airways. She opens her eyes. 

Harry has taken a couple of steps back and has stowed his wand back in the Ministry issued leather holster under his jacket by the time she opens her eyes. His face is guarded but polite, and it makes Ginny’s lungs ache like there is a large Harry shaped concrete weight on her chest. 

“Thank you,” she breathes, and Harry grimaces. 

“It was the least I could do given it was my fault..” He shoves his hands into his pants pockets, and she can see the mask slip a little, his guilt bubbling to the surface of his well-curated Harry facade. “You look stunning Gin.”

“Harry…”

There is an urgent knock on the door to the women’s bathroom that drowns them both out. 

“Ginny?” Hermione’s voice carries under the locked door. “Are you in there? You’ve been gone for ages…?”

Harry frowns and hands Ginny her clutch from the vanity. He hesitates for a second, before reaching for the crown and holding it out for Ginny to take. 

“It’s my Hen’s Night,” Ginny explains softly popping it back on her head, and Harry nods. 

“Congratulations. I saw the announcement in the paper.”

“Ginny?” Hermione knocks again and before either Ginny or Hermione have a chance to move, the lock clicks open, and Hermione pops her head around the door. 

Her eyes widen when her gaze falls upon Harry, and then her mouth gapes in shock when she sees Ginny’s face, streaks of blood down her neck. 

“Merlin Ginny, what happened? Are you alright?” She asks bustling closer, allowing Harry to step further away from Ginny. “Hi Harry,” she adds as an afterthought with a small wave. 

“Hermione,” Harry nods cooly towards his best friend.

“I dropped my bag, Harry and I reached for it at the same time and...we clashed heads...and my nose started bleeding….” Ginny says, tucking her clutch and crown under her arm, reaching for more paper towel, wetting it under the faucet quickly and then pressing it to her newly healed nose. “Harry was helping.” 

With her free hand, she sources her wand and uses a cleaning charm to quickly remove any blood residue from her dress, shoes and skin with a sweep of her wand.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asks, surveying Ginny carefully, and the younger, but taller, redhead smiles and nods. 

“Good as new, thanks to Harry.” 

She tries to offer him a friendly smile, but Harry retreats, folding his arms against his chest. 

“I should go,” he tells them, clearing his throat nervously as a group of witches in varying states of inebriation trickle into the now unlocked ladies room.

One of them gasps in shock at Harry and he takes it as his cue to leave. Being in a Witches’ bathroom at a bar is not a place he wants people to see him. 

Harry is out the door and strides away when he realises he still has to use the facilities himself. Damn it! He turns back, finding Hermione following him. 

“Harry…”

“Hermione, I’d love to have a little chat right now, but I have to use the loo…” 

Hermione nods and steps out of his way and Harry disappears into the Wizard’s bathroom. 

Harry half expects Hermione to be gone by the time he finishes up. He takes his time washing hands and checks his reflection in the mirror, giving himself a stern talking to for his comment about Ginny’s appearance. She did look stunning...stunning beautiful...but he had no right to say it. When he steps out, Hermione is still there, standing against the small alcove feature wall lined with old amber glass apothecary bottles of varying shapes and sizes separating the bathrooms from the larger open bar space. 

Harry shoves his hands in his pockets as he approaches her. She grimaces at him sadly. 

“You okay?” She asks and Harry’s brow twitches with confusion a second before he pats the back of his head. 

“Yeah fine. Ginny bore more of the force-“

“You know I’m not talking about your head, Harry,” Hermione says softly. 

“I’m fine Hermione, honestly,” he tries to reassure her. But Hermione doesn’t look convinced. 

She steps forward. “Really? I don’t think I would be. If Ron and I were in your situation and I happened to run into him the night of his Buck’s do...I don’t think I’d be this calm or helpful.” 

Harry pulls Hermione into a friendly hug, one Hermione returns, giving him a squeeze. She gives him an extra squeeze before they pull apart. She’d been on holiday all week spending time with Ron and Rosie and preparing for both tonight and next Saturday’s wedding. Hermione softens a little when she sees the look on his almost sheepish face. 

“Good thing then you and Ron have been married for four years and have Rosie to worry about. I’m fine, I promise, ‘Mione. Maybe a bit shell-shocked…I didn’t expect to run into the actual Hen’s Party, but here I am.” 

Hermione’s brow lifts. “You didn’t...plan this?” 

Harry frowns. “Do you think if I planned to run into Ginny, I might have been a little less...I don’t know...destructive? I made her nose bleed.” 

“You also healed it.” 

Harry points to the gold Auror’s Office pin on his jacket lapel. “Can’t help it,” he says with a healthy dose of self-deprecation that makes Hermione roll her eyes. “Tragically helpful and dedicated to serving and protecting magickind. You know me.” 

Hermione smiles. “I do, yes.” 

“Can I walk you back to your party?” Harry asks and Hermione nods. 

She leads him through the heaving dancefloor until they make it across the other side of the gigantic room to a large party booth filled with witches Harry recognises as Ginny’s sisters-in-law - Fleur, Angelina and Audrey - and her teammates from Hollyhead including Ginny’s mentor and Captain Gwen Jones. Ginny is seated in the middle, her flashing crown a beacon in the dark room, her smile large as she sips on a novelty cauldron the size of two mugs, filled with a bubbling pink drink that’s sending bubbles around the booth. Gwen is the first to spot them as Hermione leads them out of the crowd and she pushes past the girls to greet Harry. 

“Potter!” She greets with a broad smile. “Long time no see.” 

“Gwen,” he nods, beaming back at her. “How are you?” 

Gwen hikes a thumb over her shoulder to the giggles and laughter and Hen’s night frivolity unfolding in the booth. “Too old for this shite, I’m sure.” She’s the oldest of the group, Harry realises as he scans the crew. He knows each girl, and some wave back at him, which he returns politely and with a genuine smile.

Harry laughs. “You’re ageless, Gwen. And you’ll probably out drink most of them, Fleur excluded.” He teases with a wink as Fleur approaches for a hug, a glass of bubbles in her hand. 

“I’ll never live that Christmas down, will I? Hullo, Harry, it’s nice to see you.” 

“You too Fleur, it’s been a while.” 

Angelina and Audrey come forward for hugs too, and Harry realises that it has been a very long time since he’s been surrounded by this much family. People he saw every Sunday for dinner and babysat or spent time with their children as Uncle Harry. It hits him like a powerful Stupify, and he’s glad to feel Hermione still beside him like she’s protecting him. The conversation carries on around him for a couple of minutes, before Ginny finally, breaking away from a conversation with Luna, who waves a cheery hello at Harry too, that he returns, finally meets his eye. 

“Thank you.” She mouths across the group, and he nods. 

“Nice touch with the flashing crown,” Harry says to Hermione. “Batteries?” 

Hermione smiles. “I got it from the muggle party shop near the Ministry. Molly and the girls loved it and couldn't believe it wasn’t charmed.”

“I’ll bet.” 

A drinks witch approaches the booth, her uniform a glittery pink dress and bow tie, her empty tray outstretched, and Harry taps her on the shoulder. 

She turns, smiling at him widely as she recognises him instantly. “What can I get you, Mr Potter?” 

Harry looks at Hermione as he answers. “Two bottles of Champagne and a bottle of … Gin?” He asks, and Hermione smiles and nods her approval. “For the booth please.” 

The order appears on the tray before her, with an array of neatly but precariously stacked glasses. The drinks witch moves towards the booth table, garnering the attention of the group with oohs and ahs as she lays out the drinks, with her wand, preparing to serve them. While everyone's attention is on the drinks, Harry turns to Hermione, handing her enough money to cover the order plus another round. 

“Harry…” she says doubtfully, but Harry gives her a determined look, one that says to not fight him on this. 

“Hermione. Please.” 

Hermione acquiesces, taking the money. “You could stay, you know?” 

Harry chuckles. “I think that’s a decidedly terrible idea. Have a good night, yeah?” 

Harry and Ginny are grown adults with a very long history together, and a harrowing breakup under their belt. Any reconciliation of friendship between them can only make things better; Harry had been left very firmly removed from the Weasley family, and any semblance of a family he had, in general, had been crushed after the break-up. But tonight isn’t that time, and Hermione knows even though she desperately wishes her best friends could themselves be friends again, this is a small step and the best she’ll get.

Hermione nods. “Thank you,” she tells him, hugging him tightly.

Harry gives Ginny a final look, one she returns, her eyes bearing right through him as they stare at each other, twelve long years after the war, completely different people, changed by more loss and heartache than they ever expected. 

After a long moment, Harry looks away and disappears through the crowd, leaving Ginny, someone else’s fiancé, in his wake. 


	2. I've learned to lose you, can't afford to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny's olive branch to Harry backfires spectacularly, changing their relationship forever. 
> 
> And in the past, we see the moment it all falls apart. 
> 
> (Warning, this one is an emotional rollercoaster. xo)

****

**2: I’VE LEARNED TO LOSE YOU, CAN’T AFFORD TO**

Ginny steps out onto the street and breathes in a fresh lungful air that doesn’t smell like The Apothecary and the acrid mixture of nightclub sweat, alcohol and magic. 

Angelina, Audrey, Fleur and Hermione follow her out to the pavement in single file, each woman laughing and smiling as they talk about the night of games they’d played, including Angelina’s spectacular version of pin the wand on the groom that had Ginny blushing, and Hermione adamant she could never look Neville in the eye again. 

The women hug each other in turn, having made plans inside the club to head home to their children sans husbands, given they—the Weasley brothers and Neville–were away this weekend in Hogsmeade for Neville’s Stag Do, which would officially kick off tomorrow night. 

“Anyone up for late-night breakfast before bed?” Ginny asks cheerily and the older women groan.

“It’s nearly one! How can you eat this late?” Fleur asks incredulously, always surprised still after all this time that Ginny’s always hungry, a trait of the two youngest Weasleys that still exasperates their family. 

And Ginny grins proudly. “Athletic metabolism?” She shrugs, making Angelina bark with laughter. 

“I can’t wait until you hit your 30s,” Angelina teases with a waggle of her eyebrows.

Ginny laughs. “I’m pretty sure my genetics show it’ll catch up to me eventually! Even Bill–skinny and fit since the dawn of time–has started to fill out. I’m going to enjoy it while I can.” 

“He hasn’t,” Fleur defends before smiling a little. “I mean, maybe a little. He says it’s my cooking. We eat too much bread apparently.” 

“George’s said the same thing to me,” Angelina laughs. “We’re not as svelte as we used to be. I keep blaming the kids. My metabolism hasn’t been the same since I had Roxanne. And it’s only gotten worse since Arthur Jr was born last year. I only look at a piece of Molly’s Treacle Tart and I have to go up a pant size. I never understood how the boys could stomach third and fourth helpings.” 

“The Weasley Hollow Legs Syndrome,” Hermione teases Ginny with a wink.

The girls chuckle, and Ginny looks to Hermione checking to see if her Maid of Honour and closest friend is up for continuing their Hen’s night adventure. 

“I’ll have strange dreams if I eat this late,” Hermione admits, checking her watch. “Besides, I should pick Rosie up from Mum and Dad’s. I promised I’d be there by two at the latest. The little chicken won’t sleep properly if Ron or I am not there...”

“Fine!” Ginny concedes dramatically with fake uproar making them laugh as she throws her hands up in the air. “I guess it’s midnight breakfast for one then! Means more French Toast for me anyhow. Be gone you lot, go home to your children. And thanks again for a wonderful night.” 

They each hug her in turn, and she thanks them individually for all the effort they’ve put into making the night memorable and fun. Her final hug is reserved for Hermione, who gives her a tight hug, and a cautious smile. 

“Breakfast at St Ali’s?” Hermione asks, referring to Ginny’s favourite late-night cafe from when she used to live in Islington, and Ginny nods. 

“Yeah, I figure why, not? I haven’t been there in years. Everything in Slough will be closed, and we both know Nev would kill me if I burnt down his house trying to cook.” 

Hermione cocks her head at Ginny thoughtfully.

“You sure you're not hoping to bump into Harry again?”

Ginny gives her a reassuring smile.. “Maybe a little. I just….” Ginny takes a deep breath. “I think it’s time I maybe had ‘the talk’ with him. The, _‘I'm sorry for the pain I’ve caused, but I’m happy and I hope you can be too’_ one. The one I should have had a long time ago. The one that’s way overdue.”

“Right now?” Hermione asks, trying and failing to appear casual in her implication that this is a bad idea. 

Ginny was hoping that Harry’s next stop after The Apothecary was St Ali’s. Even though the wizarding bar was a new addition to this side of town, St Ali’s, a small late-night cafe across the park from Grimmauld Place, had been one of their favourite places to eat when they’d been together, and they’d often frequented it late at night after long shifts at the Ministry or nights on the pitch. They were both pretty rubbish at keeping a regular eating schedule, but midnight breakfast was special to them. 

Ginny wrings her hands nervously. Hermione’s got a point, but Ginny had been thinking about it obsessively over the past hour since Harry had left. Like the words were itching to be said after so long of being lost deep inside the depths of her guilt. Like seeing him tonight had floated them to the top of her mind, fully formed, sincere and ready to be said. So ready it was admittedly causing her anxiety to have them bottle up inside her any longer. 

“Now is as good a time as any,” Ginny concedes and Hermione doesn’t look so sure. 

“I know you’re worried I’m going to say something to hurt him,” Ginny tries, but Hermione shakes her head. 

“No, that’s not what worries me. What worries me is that you are both too good at hurting _each other_. What if this backfires? Ginny, what if this makes things worse?”

“Could it get worse?” Ginny tries to joke, but Hermione frowns. 

“Yes,” she says blankly. “Yes, it could. It could always get worse, Ginny. I know. I’ve experienced it first hand.” 

Ginny closes her eyes briefly, taking a deep, centring breath. “Hermione, I need to do this. It doesn’t have to be now, but I want it to be. I want to wake up tomorrow focused on my future with Neville. Not feeling like I’m still anchored to something in my past.”

Hermione acquiescence finally, with a small sad nod. “Okay, but just be careful, yeah? And get home safely?” 

Ginny grins. “I have my wand,” Ginny tells her, tapping her clutch. “I’ll be safe. I promise. And you know I’m still exceptionally skilled with a Bat-Bogey Hex.” 

“I do know that yes,” Hermione grins proudly. “It’s on your collectable player card.” 

“There are worse things to be famous for,” Ginny winks, and Hermione laughs, waving goodbye as she follows the other Weasley wives to the alley to apparate away.

# # #

Ginny isn’t surprised but rather relieved to find St Ali’s open, and Harry sitting at the long window table, a pot of tea and a stack of navy Ministry folders in front of him. 

Ginny steps inside, and as the small bell on the door tinkers signifying her entry, Harry looks up. Confusion flashes across his face momentarily and then he gives her a small smile, allowing her enough confidence to approach him. 

“I thought I’d find you here,” Ginny says sliding into the chair across from him. “It’s been forever since I’ve been here. I’ve missed it.”

It feels almost surreal being here with him now, after everything, two whole years on. 

A lot had changed inside both of them in two years. 

“You don’t come here anymore?” Harry asks, as Ginny grabs for the menu and flips over the cover and to scan the contents. It’s purely perfunctory, they both know she’ll order the French Toast and a pot of Earl Grey, but she scans through the menu anyway. 

“Islington is a bit far for French Toast,” Ginny smiles humbly.

Harry knew that Ginny and Neville had a place in Slough, one Neville had brought with his inheritance in his first year out of Hogwarts. But now Neville was working at Hogwarts as a Herbology teacher and only spent his weekends in London, so Ginny mostly lived between the flat she shared with Neville at weekends and her parent’s place which was always full of people and company. After growing up at The Burrow, living in a five-bed dorm at Hogwarts and moving in with Harry only a few days after graduating Hogwarts, all these years later Ginny wasn’t accustomed to living alone.

Harry reaches for his tea as Ginny places the menu back on the table, and nervously toys with the end of her long braid, pulling the tie free and separating the intricately entwined knots with her fingers to fall in soft waves over her shoulder. 

“What’re you doing here, Gin?” Harry asks softly, and it takes Ginny a moment or two to reply.

Because honestly, being with him now, here at this moment, so different from the one they’d shared earlier, she’s kind of lost her nerve a little.

“I thought we should talk,” she says carefully, and Harry frowns. 

“Why? Aside from literally bumping into you tonight, you haven’t wanted to talk to me in months. I saw you on the Platform on September 1st, but you hurried away.” 

Ginny grimaces. “I panicked. It was the first time I’d been there with Neville, and I saw you and it reminded me that last time I’d been there had been with you.” 

Harry smiles affectionately at the memory. “Your last train ride home from Hogwarts. I picked you up from the station.” 

“A lifetime ago.” 

“A few lifetimes ago, really,” Harry concedes and Ginny nods. 

“I told Teddy it was my fault you didn’t speak to him, he wanted to say hi but you disappeared before he could.” 

Ginny sighs heavily, but a small sad smile creeps onto her face. She loves Teddy dearly, still seems him semi-regularly, but their relationship isn’t the same since Harry and her split. 

“Remus and Tonks would have been so proud of him. The yellow hair was a nice touch for his first day back to school.” 

Harry chuckles. “Proud Hufflepuff that kid. We got a lot of funny looks on the walk to the train.” 

Ginny laughs. “He’s a great kid. I miss him. I mean he writes sometimes but it’s different now he’s a bit older.”

“The best,” Harry agrees. “And I miss him too.” 

“Thank you again for helping me tonight. The girls loved the drinks by the way; that was very generous.”

Harry nods graciously, folding the file in front of him closed, and disappearing them with an exceptionally discrete flick of his wand. St Ali’s was a muggle cafe that afforded them a healthy dose of anonymity. It also had the best late-night breakfast around.

“I wanted to contribute, I mean, I owed you, given I nearly broke your nose...” 

Ginny laughs. “I think we both know it was just a hard knock, but I appreciate it. You didn’t have to though. I mean, after…” Ginny decides to classify all they went through in one broad term and save them both the heartache. “... _everything_.” 

Harry frowns, leaning back in his chair. Everything covered all manner of sins and pain. He exhales deeply and nods. 

“Yeah well. You know me, Saint Potter,” he teases and Ginny wrinkles her nose. 

“You don’t have to feel bad or make a joke about being a good person, Harry. You _are_ a good person...”

And he cocks his head at her curiously. “Am I?”

Ginny nods. “Yes, you are. You know you are.”

Harry frowns. “Gin, if I was such a good person, why are we here right now and you’re wearing another man’s ring? If I was such a good person, you never would have left me.” 

The look of hurt that crosses Ginny’s face is painful. Harry doesn’t know why he says it, but he does, and he doesn’t have the heart to apologise for it either. He was being truthful. He’d promised himself he’d always been truthful with her, no matter how painful it was to either of them. 

Ginny, however, refuses to apologise for moving on with her life and moving on with her future. The chapter of Harry and Ginny closed long ago when the ground had crumbled beneath them and swallowed their relationship –– and _their_ family –– whole. 

“I know it seems sudden, but I did tell you Neville and I were dating Harry…” Ginny says calmly, her media training slipping into place and it makes Harry’s anger rise a little. He knows what she’s doing...he’d been taught the exact same evasive strategies with dealing with difficult questions. But he wasn’t having it. Hadn’t they rehearsed the difficult questions, answers and conversations about their personal lives enough over the years? 

“Yeah, but you’re not _just dating_ him anymore Ginny are you? You’re marrying him. You wouldn’t even marry me…” Harry adds with exasperation. 

“Harry, you never _actually_ asked me to marry you,” Ginny reminds him. And it’s true. He never actually had. It had just been assumed they’d figure it all out once the baby was born. But their precious little baby wasn’t born. And it tore them apart.

“Are you in love with him?” Harry asks, and to Ginny’s surprise, his tone is soft. 

Ginny frowns. “Harry, that’s not fair.” 

Her response angers Harry. Because after everything, surely she should be able to answer that question easily. Harry leans forward, his arms bracing on the table between them.

“Gin. Are you in love with him?”

“Yes,” Ginny snaps, her own temper flaring. “For Merlin’s sake, of course, I love him, I am marrying next Saturday aren’t I?” 

The waitress who had been approaching them preparing to take Ginny’s order quickly detours back to the counter under the guise of needing a pen to afford them some privacy. Ginny sighs heavily, her shoulders slumping into the old wooden chair.

“Damn it, Harry,” she says with disappointment. “I came here to talk. I thought that running into you tonight, on tonight of all nights was a sign. A sign for some closure between us. I don’t want to fight with you.” 

Harry’s hand presses against his chest and he sighs deeply. “Hearing you say you love him hurt more than I thought it would. A lot more,” he says with a genuinely pained breath. And at that moment he looks defeated. Completely heartbroken. And it’s nowhere near fair. 

What did he expect her to do? Just pretend that it hadn’t happened? That their life together hadn’t completely been torn apart beyond repair the moment they’d been told they’d lost their baby?

“Come on Harry, don’t tell me you haven’t moved on too. Ron told me you’ve been dating Cho. Of all people _Cho Chang_?” 

“It’s not dating. I’m not dating her Ginny.” Harry says simply. And he’s not. They’ve slept together a couple of times, more out of necessity and loneliness more than anything. 

“So you’re just shagging her then?” Ginny counters glibly and Harry scoffs. 

“Would it make you jealous if I said yes?” He replies hotly and Ginny rolls her eyes. 

“Do you want it to make me jealous, Harry?” 

Harry sighs deeply, the enormity and stupidity of their conversation catching him off guard. He runs his hands across his tired face and pinches the bridge of his nose to help regain some sort of decorum and composure. “I can’t do this, Gin. We can’t do this. It’s why we haven’t even tried to be friends…”

Ginny frowns. And she knows Hermione will be disappointed but it’s so clear that the pain between them isn’t a distant memory at all. “You’re right. I can’t be friends with you Harry because what we lost hurts too much.” Her voice is soft and her eyes watery, the anger forgotten. 

“And how do you think I feel?” Harry says with exasperation. “I didn’t just lose you and our baby. I lost my family, _our_ family. I lost my future with you. You got everything and everyone and I’m left with nothing and alone.”

“I didn’t ask them to take sides, Harry,” Ginny retorts fiercely because she didn’t and she can’t have him thinking that. God, she knows they were his family too...it’s just how it worked out...isn’t it? 

And then she realises — he’d given it all up for her. It had been all for her. She’d broken his heart and he’d just... _he’d just let her_.

Harry sighs heavily, he can’t do this anymore. He stands suddenly, catching them both off guard, but even though he knows he’ll be full of regret he knows he has to walk away from her right now. He throws some muggle money on the table for his order. 

“I hope you and Neville have a nice life together. Because I’m done. I quit pining for you, Gin. I love you, but I can’t do it anymore.” 

And then he’s moving, turning away from her and walking towards the door, so furious with himself and her that his hands are balled into fists. He’s nearly gone, heading across the street and towards the park separating the cafe and Grimmauld Place when she springs to her feet and hurries after him. 

He’s just stepped onto the pavement on the other side of the road when she catches up to him. 

“Harry, wait!” She calls desperately, and he turns, stopped dead in his tracks in surprise. “Harry, please wait...” 

His eyes are wide and his face is coloured with sadness. “Gin, I-“ he starts as she rushes towards him, her dress shimmering in the lights from the cafe that wash out at them into the dark street. 

She moves lithely with the precision of a Chaser and then before he knows it she’s there right in front of him. _Fuck it_ , she thinks before she throws her arms around his neck and pushes up on the toe of her high strappy shoes to kiss him passionately like she’s never damn stopped. 

Her lips are warm and soft and flood him with memories and want in an instant. His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her fiercely closer, and he’s heart soars as she deepens the kiss, kissing him with wild abandon, her fingers gripping at the front of his shirt and jacket tightly.

God, he’s missed her, the way she feels and tastes and smells, and it’s everything. It’s them lying on the floor of the living room laughing together, paint splashed across their faces from a paintbrush fight he’d inevitably lost...it’s them desperately shagging in the hallway after she’d been at a training camp in Wales for two weeks and them not being able to get naked quick enough...it’s him waiting patiently at the bottom of the stairs at The Burrow at age 17, breathless as she tramps down them in a tiny pair of jean shorts and his old Gryffindor Quidditch tee with Potter on the back…

Harry pulls away from her with ragged breath, desperately panting for air. She presses her forehead to his, her eyes bright and glassy with unshed tears as she stares at him intently. He can see her freckles through the makeup when he’s this close, and he remembers at great length kissing every single one on her creamy fair skin. 

“You’re the love of my life, Gin,” he murmurs croakily. “And I miss you so damn much.”

Ginny nods, caressing his cheek softly before she slides her fingers across his bearded jaw to cup his face tenderly, making the Adam’s Apple in his throat bounce as he swallows thickly. As she holds him close she notices the subtle changes of two years in his face. The darker circles under his eyes, a new almost invisible scar the width of a galleon on his right cheek. How he wears his hair a bit shorter these days on the sides but long on top to conceal the faded lightning bolt-shaped scar with a messy fringe. How his beard has grown out a bit more and only makes him look more attractive to her.

“I miss you too Harry,” she breathes earnestly. “Endlessly. And sometimes I catch myself thinking about our son and how alike you would have been—“

But she doesn’t get to finish her sentence as Harry is kissing her again, pouring everything he has into it, telling her he sometimes thinks about their unborn son too. 

  
  


# # #

“Please tell me Malfoy isn’t home…” Ginny groans as Harry pushes her up against the wall in the dark hallway of Grimmauld Place, his lips skating down the slope of her neck to her collarbone. 

Things had become a lot more heated since they pushed through the front door, a tangle of lips, limbs and tongues, desperate for each other and unable to let go.

“Nope, hot date. Astoria Greengrass…” he tells her between kisses, and Ginny groans again as his fingers skate the slope of her toned bum and head up her back searching for the zipper of her sparkly dress. 

He’s asked her three times if she wanted to stop, and each time she’s emphatically told him no. Despite her better judgement, despite the repercussions that were hurtling towards her at speed as Harry’s hands sought to undress her, Ginny couldn’t bring herself to stop. She wanted him. It had been two years and she wanted to spend the night being sexually worshipped by Harry and his expert knowledge of her body. 

The zip slips down her back, and she helps breathlessly peel the long-sleeved sequined dress from her body and it falls to the floor in a heap of heavy sequins at her feet. 

Harry’s breath stutters a little, as he stares down at her and the creamy expanse of skin and black lace before him. She hadn’t worn the coordinated black lace bra and skimpy knickers for him but it doesn’t matter.

His mind races back to the last time he’s seen her like this, naked and needy, and she’d been pregnant, her toned belly slightly rounded with their still-secret 16 weeks old baby. But the soft curve of the life they’d created was gone, and Harry could appreciate that Ginny’s svelte and toned abs were back. They twitch as she pants, and he absentmindedly presses his palm to her stomach. 

It does two things, makes him sob a bit, the sound ripping from his mouth before he can stop it, and another less expected thing...has Ginny reach up and cup his face with one hand forcing him to make eye contact with her while she pushes his hand lower, away from her stomach and towards the black lace. 

“I want you to touch me,” she tells him, squeezing his hand, giving him permission to take this further. 

He pushes her more firmly against the wall, so her back is flush with the wallpaper, and then moves his hand under the waistband of her knickers, searching for her heat with his adept fingers. 

She keens against the soft spot near his ear when he finally touches her; when his fingertips trace against her gently.

His heart screams at him to stop … that Ginny’s a week away from marrying someone else… had literally told him she loved someone else only half an hour ago...but he finds it hard to believe. Because he knows her. She’s fiercely loyal...and this right now is not her being loyal to anyone but him…

“Harry,” she breathes softly and he knows that tone. He knows what that means, and without a second thought, he slips his fingers inside her and captures her gasp of pleasure on his lips, kissing her deeply. 

  
  


# # #

Ginny wakes to the same ceiling she’d woken to for nine years in the master bedroom of Grimmauld Place, but the beautiful shade of forest green they’d spent days painstaking picking from the paint chips at the hardware store was gone. 

She’d been too preoccupied last night to notice little more than Harry’s body pressed to hers or the way he still looked at her and cherished her with his entire being, to realise the bedroom was no longer coloured in the dreamy green hue they’d painted sans magic, but a soft light grey. 

It was a colour Ginny realises she hates, one she’d never pick, not for this space, and she realises with a nauseating flip of her stomach that is probably why Harry repainted it. She looks around the room and the blank canvas he’s created here, removing all the pieces they had made it homely with. The bookshelf of photos was gone from near the window, and the painting Luna had gifted them for a housewarming gift, an abstract of a couple, one red, one black on a white background was no longer hanging above the bed. This new look room with its grey walls and deep navy comforter and minimal decor were so at odds with the one she knew it to be, it didn’t feel like the blank canvas or fresh slate Harry had been hoping to achieve. It felt cold and lonely––and Ginny notes, as she lies naked under the covers of an empty bed, the soft sounds of Harry in the kitchen downstairs carrying through the ajar door––and _destructive_. 

Ginny dresses as best she can, fishing her underwear and shoes from underneath the pile of Harry’s clothing on the floor at the end of the bed, but her dress is downstairs and less than subtle to sneak home in. She considers taking one of Harry’s tees, transforming it into a dress but realises how fucked this situation already is and summons the dress with her wand. 

Malfoy is still out, so Ginny heads for the bathroom to wash her face and refashion her hair into something that doesn’t look like she’d spend the evening having amazing passionate sex with her ex. And, for a moment as she stares at her sullen and guilty reflection in the mirror, she’s relieved she had. 

Harry’s left three small marks on her neck, two on the left side and one just above her collarbone, and Ginny finds it infuriating. He’d marked her as his, and he had no right to do so. She presses her wand to each mark, long experienced as a professional athlete with hiding bruises, and conceals it, her annoyance at him growing stronger with each mark. 

_What the fuck are you going to do now Ginny?_ She asks herself. And it admittedly takes her a good few minutes of intense mirror self talk to make a decision. 

Harry is in the kitchen making breakfast and coffee when Ginny emerges barefoot, her strappy heels hanging loosely from her fingertips. He looks up as she enters the kitchen, his position in front of the stove in grey tracksuit bottoms and a maroon tee cooking bacon a familiar and welcome sight that makes her stomach swoop.

“Hi,” she says softly and he smiles.

And it’s too damn beautiful not to immediately feel guilty for what’s about to happen.

“Hey. I made you a coffee,” he says gesturing to the cup laid out in front of her favourite seat. “Wasn’t sure if you still took it black or not? There is fresh milk-“

“I can’t have coffee with you, Harry,” Ginny says firmly, folding an arm across her waist like she’s trying desperately to hold herself together. “I have to go. Neville’s expecting me.”

He’s not, but she needs an out, she needs to remind them both she’s not engaged to Harry...but Neville. 

Harry sweeps his wand across the pan, leaving it to cook without supervision and turns towards her. 

“Stay. _Please_.” He almost pleads. 

“I can’t,” Ginny breathes, trying to force back the tears that are threatening to fall. It’s the look on his face that does it, he’s happy. He’s happy with her and she’s awful and she’s about to hurt him again and it’s too much. Why does he let her do this?

“Harry, we want different things…” 

Harry shakes his head vehemently, and steps towards her. “No, Gin, I want the things we planned for ten years together. We can still have that. It’s not too late.” He tries to reach out to touch her but she pulls away. He sucks in a deep breath. “Gin, we can still have a future together.” 

But Ginny frowns and shakes her head firmly. “No, we can’t, Harry.” 

“Then what did last night mean-?“

“It meant nothing!” Ginny fights fiercely, her temper flaring and Harry’s eyes flash with hurt. “Harry, it meant nothing…” she reasons again, hoping the more she repeats it, the more at least one of them might start believing it. 

But Harry disagrees, he’d seen it in her eyes last night. The way she still loved him. It was still there. It wasn’t just spectacular sex. He knew it. 

“Why did you tear us apart, Gin?” He asks softly. “Why did you leave? I’m sorry but if you loved Neville, really loved him you wouldn’t have—“

“What? Let you _fuck_ me?” She bites crassly, hoping it’ll shut him up. 

Harry sighs dejectedly. “It wasn’t just _the once,_ Ginny.” He levels because he knows she wants to pretend this was a mistake but they’d made love three times last night. “I’m not going to let you pretend this was a mistake when we both know the real mistake is you insisting you’re in love with Neville—“

But he knows he’s hit a nerve, and she’s shutting down. The tenderness disappears from her face and he knows she’s about to eviscerate him. She’s still a fiery Weasley after all. 

“I left you because I lost our son Harry. He died because of me —”

And Harry’s heart breaks. “It wasn’t your fault Ginny,” he tells her softly. 

Ginny shakes her head, and pulls on her shoes, turning away from him. 

“I can’t do this. This was a mistake.” She wobbles into the hallway and then uses her wand to tighten the straps on her shoes so she can leave.

“You're still going to marry him aren’t you?” Harry asks, following her into the hall. 

There is a beat of silence between them. 

“Yes,” she breathes desperately, stopping only momentarily to open the door with her wand. She fiercely avoids looking him in the eye. “Please don’t hate me, Harry. _Please_ understand.” 

Harry frowns, folding his arms sadly against his chest. “I have no capacity to hate you Gin. No matter how much you fuck me up, again and again.” 

And with a small nod of recognition, of complete understanding that this one, this heartbreak is on her, Ginny leaves, the door closing heavily behind her with a slam. 

# # #

_Ginny frowns down at the suitcase in front of her, bits and pieces flying into it, packing itself neatly and then looks up and into the curious face of Harry standing deadly still in the doorway of their bedroom. He’d just come in from a run, his shirt sweaty and sticking to his heaving chest._

_“I can’t do this anymore,” she croaks, her face red and blotchy with tears. “Harry, we want different things. This is over.” Ginny hastily pulls another bag out from under the bed and begins to pack that too, items flying around the room with the flick of her wand. “You want a family of your own, the house in Godric’s Hollow and a dog and…”_

_Harry steps hastily into the room, his face marked with utter bewilderment. He’d left her an hour ago to go for a run and she’d been asleep, curled up in the plethora of blankets on their bed, an empty vial of prescribed dreamless sleep potion on the nightstand. Now she was up and moving fitfully about, consumed by grief._

_“Ginny. We’ve always talked about these things, you wanted them too…” he reaches out to touch her arm softly to soothe her, but she jerks away, her hands shaking furiously._

_“I don’t want them anymore. I don’t want children anymore!” She shouts at him and he just blinks at her in reply._

_Because the reality is, he’s just as fragile and shaky as her. His emotions are a mess of loss and guilt and anger and sadness._

_“Gin, we just buried our son—” he begins to say, by way of trying to justify to both of them exactly what’s happening; but it doesn’t calm her._

_Ginny turns to him furiously, the arms of his large jumper that she’s wearing slipping over her shaking hands. “It was an empty box, Harry. We buried an empty box. And now I just feel...empty.”_

_The foetus had only been sixteen weeks along when its heart had stopped. It hadn’t happened suddenly with fierce pain or physical trauma. It had just inexplicably stopped one day, it’s little life no longer viable. The Healers had said it had taken a few days for her body to realise the foetus had died, and then she’d woken in the night to heavy bleeding that hadn’t stopped for three days as her body dealt with the loss. And that had been it. Their baby, the tiny little life they hadn’t had a chance to share with any friends or family yet, had died. And they’d told no one._

_Harry steps desperately towards her, standing between her and the heavily ladened suitcases._

_“Please don’t leave me. Gin, you’re my everything. I’ll do anything. If you don’t want those things anymore that’s fine, we don’t have to—”_

_Ginny shakes her vehemently. “You’ve always wanted a family. I’m not letting you give that up.”_

_“I’m not giving anything up, I have a family already. You are my family, Ginny. You,” he implores._

_But Ginny rebuffs his advances, stepping away, knowing If she lets him physically comfort her, she’ll lose her resolve. And she can’t do that. She needs this fire to save both of them from future heartache. Harry needs to be a father, and she can’t be the one that stops that from happening._

_“It won’t ever be enough,” she tells him softly. “I know you. You want to be a dad. It’s all you’ve wanted since Teddy and...I don’t want to be a mum anymore, Harry. I mean, what if I lose another one and...” she trails off, closing her bags with a flick of her wand._

_“Gin. Gin please.” Harry says desperately but she raises her wand to him fiercely and his hands go up in surrender. He freezes; she’s never pulled her wand on him before, and he’s caught completely off guard. He can disarm her wordlessly without his wand, but he doesn’t have the heart to. And she knows it._

_“Please don’t hate me, Harry. Please understand,” Ginny pleads._

_With a wave of her wand her bags disappear and then before he can fathom exactly what’s happening, she’s gone too, her feet urgent and desperate on the stairs as she leaves._

_Harry’s left frozen in place in the dishevelled bedroom, unable to move not from magic but pure grief._

_Downstairs the door closes heavily with a slam._

# # #

Ginny is barely holding back thick sobs as her heels trail up the stone path from the gate to the brightly painted sunshine yellow door on the renovated terrace of number three. 

It’s still early, eightish on a Saturday, but Ginny’s stomach somersaults violently as she climbs up to steps to the brightly painted door and the brass plaque engraved with the name ‘Granger-Weasley’ in cursive. 

Ginny knocks quickly using the brass lion door knocker, before swiping at her swollen and red teary eyes. 

The door opens soon enough to reveal Hermione—her hair in a messy topknot, wearing an oversized hot pink WWW promo tee over tights and fluffy white bunny slippers—and a sleepy four-year-old PJ clad Rosie sitting on her hip nibbling on a piece of toast with marmite. 

“Gin-?” Hermione asks with bewilderment.

“Aunt Gigi!” 

Ginny steps forward covering Rosie’s ears quickly, knowing her sister in law hates swearing in front of their child. Rosie thinks it’s a game and squeaks in delight, which only makes Ginny sob harder and Hermione’s eyes widen with concern.

“I’ve fucked up, Hermione,” Ginny cries, tears falling thick and fast. “I’ve fucked everything up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the spectacular readers who took the time to comment on chapter 1. 
> 
> Comments feed my muse so please if you read, leave me a kudos or comment and say thanks or tell me what you thought of Chapter 2. I'd love to hear from you!


	3. Tore my shirt to stop you bleeding…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both hurting and reeling from Friday night, Harry and Ginny seek advice from their trusted advisors.

**3: TORE MY SHIRT TO STOP YOU BLEEDING…**

“You haven’t said anything since I told you,” Ginny says to Hermione softly when Hermione hands her the warm mug of tea she’d just made her in the kitchen. 

Hermione gives Ginny a soft patient smile and takes a seat in the soft cushions of the sofa beside Ginny. 

“I’m...processing,” Hermione admits, sipping at her tea. “ _And_ there are little ears about,” she says pointedly, eyeing Rosie who is seated on the playmat in front of them trying to fit together a winged hippogriff wooden puzzle with fierce concentration.

Hermione studies Ginny carefully. “Are you going to tell Neville?”

“I don’t know,” Ginny admits earnestly, and Hermione gets the distinct impression that Ginny could be talked out of confessing if she was encouraged to. And from the look on Ginny’s face, a part of Ginny hopes Hermione will play that role. 

But, Hermione’s not exactly sure that’s the best way to play this, not really. Not without a looming fall out of when Neville finally falls out. Shouldn’t that fallout—if that’s how it plays out —happen now, and not after vows are exchanged? 

Ginny tiredly rubs her eyes, her fingertips massaging her aching temples a little, her head throbbing with the beginning of a tension headache. This is such a nightmare. She feels guilty and sad and just wretched. But she needs Hermione’s objectivity now to stop her spiralling into a complete mess. And Hermione is honestly the only one aside from Harry and Ginny who knows _everything_.

“Can I give you my take?” Hermione asks softly, considering that whatever Ginny decides, Hermione will respect her choice. 

“I already know your take, Hermione,” Ginny whispers, her guilt creeping into her thoughts. Ginny knows sleeping with Harry while engaged to Neville was wrong every which way she cut the details. “What I did last night was wrong...and I’m a bad person...”

Hermione grimaces, both flattered that Ginny thinks her sense of right and wrong is so obvious, and also ashamed of the implication that Ginny thinks Hermione would judge Ginny so harshly. Classifying Ginny as a bad person hadn’t honestly even crossed her mind. Complicated and hurt, yes. Bad, no. 

This wasn’t some random one night stand. This was two people who loved each other very much who had traumatic things happen to them trying to heal. That doesn’t mean it was fair to Neville by any stretch, but it surely wasn’t as black and white as Ginny classifies. 

Hermione holds Ginny’s gaze earnestly. “No, Gin, that’s _not_ what I think at all. Rosie, my darling,” Hermione says leaning forward to her daughter sitting at her feet and smothering the top of her head in kisses, making Rosie giggle. “Do you want to play a game?”

Rosie looks up brightly, nodding fiercely as she quickly sits up on her knees. “Yes, please!” She says so politely, so Hermione-like that Ginny can’t help but grin. 

“Let’s play hide and seek with Aunt Gigi. You hide first okay? And I’m going to count!”

Rosie claps her hands together excitedly and springs for her feet. “Count to a hundred,” Rosie instructs seriously, and Hermione nods. 

“Of course. I’ll count to one hundred, you hide.” 

“What about Aunt Gigi?” Rosie asks happily, holding out her hand and it's almost too cute to say no. But Ginny remembers hide and seek is a ploy for the private conversation with Hermione. So, Ginny shakes her head, despite smiling brightly. 

“How about we count together next round Rosie-Posey? You hide first and Mummy will find you.” 

Rosie nods. “Okay, we’ll count next, don’t forget,” She says bossily, wagging her finger at Ginny warningly before running off. 

“No running in the house!” Hermione calls and the little patter of feet slow down and tiptoe quickly down the hall. 

“We’ve got probably three minutes at most before I have to start looking,” Hermione says, tucking her knees underneath her, settling in comfortably for the difficult conversation to come. 

Ginny’s stomach drops anxiously, and a wave of worry hits her. 

“She’ll be in the office. It’s her first hiding place every time,” Hermione squeezes Ginny’s hand comfortingly. “Gin, honestly, I think your biggest mistake in all this wasn’t sleeping with Harry, it was pursuing Neville.”

Ginny blinks, her face blank with shock, Hermione’s word not quite sinking in. After a few seconds, Ginny’s brow furrows and Hermione chews at her lip anxiously, wondering if maybe she should have explained her POV a little differently. 

“Hermione, I want to be with Neville. The plan we have for our future, that’s what I want.”

Ginny’s breath catches like a weight in her chest when she considers how very sad she’d be to lose Neville. Her life was so different from the one she’d built with Harry, and while it wasn’t the future she’d envisioned for herself three years ago, it was the one she wanted now.

Hermione purses her lips for a moment thinking, and then sips at her tea. She figures she’s probably got one good chance at this, one chance she’s never taken to try and heal the damage between her two best friends. And she tries not to feel bad for Neville because she knows she’s about to throw her friend, her very good friend, completely under the bus. But, he’d understand, right? Like deep down, he’d understand...if he knew everything. 

“I love Neville, I do,” Hermione reassures Ginny, her words careful and hesitant. “He has the biggest, most gentle heart, and he takes care of you. He’s so proud of you and so supportive. But, he was devastated when Hannah called off their engagement, and you were devastated when you lost the baby. I think you latched onto each other too easily. Fell into a relationship too easily. And I know you deeply care for each other...you’ve always been fiercely protective of Neville for years, but you know I’ve always had my reservations about the two of you getting married so quickly. If anything...and believe me, it isn’t easy for me to say this... I think that’s the mistake you’ve made in all this. And I think, deep down you know it too or I don’t think you would have slept with Harry last night.”

“Hermione,” Ginny says softly, feeling a bit choked up and shell shocked by Hermione’s candour. “Neville and I are getting married next Saturday. We’ve been engaged for two months. Why have you never said this before?” 

Hermione frowns sadly and anxiously licks at her lips. Ron’s going to kill her when he finds out she’s meddled in this.

“I have tried so many times Ginny. I really have. And I’m not going to lie, he has made you happ _ier_ , but that’s because leaving Harry _destroyed_ you. You’re different with Neville. Happy and different, but not altogether yourself...if you know what I mean?”

Ginny frowns, her eyes looking at her shaking hands. 

“My life with Harry, Hermione...it feels like a completely different life. Like a different part of me. And when our relationship ended...when I left him...it took me a long time to understand who I was without him…” Ginny exhales deeply, trying to find the nerve for the next part that’s been weighing on her mind since last night.

“Hermione, Harry asked what last night meant; and I told him it meant nothing. But it did mean _something_ ,” Ginny says shakily, trying to gulp back tears. “It meant _everything_. But it meant everything to a version of me I can’t be anymore. I was petrified — and I still am — that something inside me is broken. And that I will never be able to give him the life he so desperately wants...the one he deserves…”

She’s not sure when she started crying, but the tears flow freely now and Hermione moves closer pulling her into a tight hug, one that is of such comfort, Ginny can’t help but completely breakdown.

“You are not broken,” Hermione soothes, holding Ginny close. “You lost your baby. You are allowed to feel all of those things...but you are also entitled to have the life you so desperately wanted Ginny even if it is scary to try for another baby...”

Ginny swipes fiercely at the tears with the sleeve of her dress, but the sequins from her dress scratch her, leaving red marks around her eyes. “Neville picked me up and glued all my broken little pieces together. He just wants a future with me. No big house. No kids. Just our careers and travel and life with the _two_ of us.” 

Hermione smiles wistfully, if a little bit sadly, at Ginny. There it is, the crux of it all. Neville’s been so enamoured with Ginny he’d give her whatever she wanted. And she’d decided she’d wanted the complete opposite to all of the hopes and dreams she’d shared with Harry. And granted, people can change, but Hermione’s pretty sure that Ginny isn’t really the person she’s decided to be. She’s become that person out of necessity, to protect herself, to distance herself from Harry in such a way that didn’t leave any doors open between them. But, it was never that simple.

“I know, Gin. But if that’s what you really want, you know Harry would be happy to have those things with you too. You just never let him be that person for you after you lost the baby,” Hermione tells her softly, rubbing her back. 

“You’ve put him on this impossibly high pedestal because you’ve seen how much he’s had to sacrifice over the years and you pushed him away. You kept him away. You never just let him be your best friend when you just needed your best friend. He needed and wanted you Ginny, and you left him. I’m not taking sides, I’m not, I swear; I care deeply about both of you. But you’re both miserable without each other, and I can’t help but think that maybe this happened for a reason? You think this was a mistake. I think it was a wake-up call. You have a lovely safe future ahead of you with Neville; but Ginny, is that really what you want?” 

# # # 

_Ginny withdraws her lips from Harry’s slowly, and his fingers dance along her shoulder and down her spine in repeated patterns up and down her skin, his eyelids closed and heavy, his body relaxed._

_“I’d forgotten how good you are at that,” she says, and it elicits a chuckle from him, his eyelids fluttering open._

_Harry smiles, the room around him blurry without his glasses. But he can see Ginny, her red hair haloed around her in soft waves, her cheeks and neck flushed._

_“We were always exceptionally good at making that position work,” he grins._

_“It’s done us well over the years. Remember the first time we tried it?”_

_“I do. It was the first Hogsmeade visit of your seventh year…” he says, chasing her kiss, lifting his head from the pillow, his other hand stroking her cheek softly as he tips her lips back towards him._

_Ginny waggles her eyebrows at him. “You came to visit…”_

_Harry smiles tenderly, their bodies lying on their sides face to face, his arm draped across her waist, holding her close. “I did. Hadn’t seen you in eight weeks. We’d spent all summer shagging in secret, trying to be discreet at The Burrow, and I was so damn excited to get you alone for more than fifteen minutes that didn’t involve trying to make up some bullshit story for Ron to believe.”_

_“He was always such an idiot about us in the early days,” Ginny laughs, her eyes sparkling a little. Her fingertips trace his face gently; she'd almost forgotten what he looked like this close, those beautiful green eyes that looked through his soul to hers._

_“Oh, he knew. Trust me. whatever excuse we gave just meant he didn’t need to make one for him and Hermione.”_

_She laughs, rubbing her nose against his tenderly, before rising on her knees. She gives him a bold look as she moves towards him again, her dishevelled wavy hair falling into her face as she ducks her head to kiss him softly and throws her other knee over his waist to straddle him. He watches her naked form move and it makes him grin. She’s so fucking gorgeous and he loves her so damn much._

_He moans as she grinds against him; god, he’s so ready for her again already. They’d already made love twice, but the heat between them is damn near insatiable after all this time. Dawn is only a couple of hours away._

_“Gin,” he breathes, as she takes him in one hand, stroking him once, twice, before sending him a salacious smile. She then leans over to place an open-mouthed kiss against the locket shaped scar on his chest._

_He fists his hands gently in her hair, enjoying her lips on his skin as she kisses a trail down his torso, her lips lightly caressing every scar across his chest. Auroring was physical work, and his body bore the brunt of scars both from his traumatic adolescence and distinguished career._

_“This one is new…” she says, thumb tracing a small thin scar the width of a galleon on his left cheek. Harry doesn’t flinch as her fingertips gently trace the shape. He points to another, a healed but jagged line along his lower abdomen._

_When they’d first been intimate, really intimate and not just stolen kisses or snogging sessions in dark parts of the castle in his sixth year, Harry had been largely uncomfortable with a lot of touching; hugs, comforts and reassuring hands had been largely missing from his childhood. As a teenager, people had been reluctant to overstep their mark, and so aside from the occasional hug hello or goodbye from certain friends and confidants, Harry wasn’t used to the intimacy, sexual or just emotional, that came with a loving hand pressed against his skin. It had taken a few months for them to get to a place where he was fully comfortable with all the ways Ginny wanted to love him, and then, it became everything between them._

_“Same incident,” he said, smiling a little. “Ireland mission. Got rushed by a muggle who stabbed me after I was Repulso’d through a glass door. Complete shit show to be honest. Lynch’s intel was old. Spent three days in St Mungo’s after. Hermione was livid. There was a lot of paperwork involved...”_

_Ginny gasps. Harry had been in the hospital a few months ago but she’d not known the details. She’d been on a training camp at the time. “Stabbed you? Merlin, that is so barbaric.”_

_“It hurt like a motherfucker,” Harry admitted. “Took weeks to heal, would have preferred a curse, to be honest. You can fix magic with magic. This wound was different. Malfoy mouthed off about it for ages.”_

_Ginny smiles and it's so damn beautiful. It’s light on his cold soul. He looks intently up at her beautiful face looming over him. He reaches up to caress her cheek. As he does she rocks her hips against him, making him moan._

_“When did you get this?” Ginny asked softly, her fingertip roaming to his arm to trace three small letters tattooed F J P on his toned left bicep, no bigger than a centimetre high and three centimetres long. Her breath stutters a little when she realises it’s significance._

_“About a year ago.” He admits, his voice barely above a whisper. He realises that no one has asked him about the tattoo before, not the men in the gym at work or even Cho. And that makes him feel a little sad._

_“Frederick James?”_

_“Yes,” Harry admits a little breathlessly._

_And for a brief second, he thinks she’s going to climb right off him and disappear. But she doesn’t._

_Ginny leans forward and kisses him passionately again, and then he’s moving, sitting up, banding an arm around her waist tightly to pull her against his chest. He rocks against her, teasing them both. Ginny groans into his mouth, snaking her arms around his shoulders, lifting herself a bit higher in anticipation, as she pushes her tongue into his mouth._

_He’s missed this, these kisses from her, languid and sensual and all-consuming. He breaks their kiss with a smile, his forehead pressed to hers, and she heaves a deep relaxing breath, taking hold of him in one hand and then guiding him into her and sinking down._

_She’s still so wet and takes him inside her whole without protest, producing a stuttered breath from them both. She holds there, completely still, full and surrounded by him, cherished by him, as he cradles her face gently in his palms._

_And then, she’s moving, undulating against him as she starts to ride him slowly. He slants his lips against hers, their kisses shallow as their pace quickens. Ginny’s back arches and Harry’s hands clutch at her waist, one woven around her, kneading the cheeks of her arse encouragingly, the other spanning the small of her back above the slope of her spine, holding her steady. She pulls away from his lips with a soft cry, her head cast to the roof, as he buries himself deep inside her again and again and again…_

_“Oh, fuck,” she pants, her eyes closed, her hands clutching through the strands of his hair. It wasn’t like this with Neville. She knew on top of everything it was an awful thought to cross her mind, but it just wasn’t._

_“Gin, shit.. slow down....I’m not going to last...,” he breathes into the column of her neck before dragging his teeth across the skin of her collarbone, making her cry out “Oh fuck...Harry!” as he hits that particular spot inside her._

_He knows she’s close, he can feel her starting to quake in his arms, and then her hands are on his chest and she’s pushing him back into the mattress, his head falling short of the pillow, his hands grasp at her hips as he meets each stroke she rides with more force._

_The sounds he’s making are sexy as hell and she leans forward a little, riding him harder, pushing him deeper, her hands on his chest, her hair falling in curtains around her face._

_“Fuck, Gin,” he moans and then he reaches up to caress her cheek. But instead, Ginny sucks his thumb into her mouth, and god that makes him impossibly harder as he pushes inside her and she bites down on his skin._

_“Harry,” she breathes, “I need...”_

_But she was going too fast, and he was going to come too quickly and he wasn’t ready for this to end. Without warning he flips them, rolling her under him and pinning her gently to the mattress, still buried deep inside her._

_The breath wooshes out of her lungs and she opens her now watery eyes to find him looking down at her sadly like he’s just realised like she had, that no matter how incredible their shagging has been tonight, it doesn’t change the fact that the engagement ring she’d taken off and stowed in her purse belong to another man._

_“Gin, I-” he tries to apologise because she might have kissed him, but it had been him who’d started this in the hallway downstairs._

_But Ginny shakes her head and leans forward to kiss him gently, telling him, “I want this…” on his lips as her tears flow freely now, slipping down her cheek. Her kisses are desperate and passionate and he can’t stop kissing her even if he wanted._

_He kisses her ardently, cradled in the juncture of her hips, her legs wrapped around his waist and continues on, driving deep until they both come, Ginny’s nails scratching into his shoulder with a shout as the orgasm washes over her, his groan loud as he finishes, spilling into her, his breath hot in her ear._

_Once he has his breath, he pulls her close, his arms resting under her shoulders cradling her close, and presses his lips to her forehead, nuzzling her._

_“I wish I could take it all back,” She says breathily and she tries to be as neutral as possible because even though she wants to fall asleep with his arms around her, she knows that they're on borrowed time right now._

_Harry presses a kiss to her shoulder as he notes the way her face falls a little._

_“Take back what exactly?” he asks softly._

_Her fingertips brush gently against his cheek again. “All of it...losing the baby...leaving you,” she whispers sadly. “The last two and a bit years without each other...”_

_And he gets it; the thought of her leaving and going home to another man, another life, has his heart heavy, especially now with the sweat drying on their skin, and him still inside her. But he wants to have this conversation with her earnestly, in the daytime, when they can talk it through properly, not have candid conversations in the afterglow._

_“Hey,” he says gently. “I’m not going anywhere. Why don’t we sleep on all of that and talk about it in the morning?”_

# # #

It’s late afternoon and raining by the time Harry pulls himself together enough to return to his Saturday schedule.

Ginny is long gone, and Draco is rostered on at the Ministry, leaving the house deafening quiet, except the ghosts of last night's memories that rattle around in Harry’s head. 

He’s not sure what he expected to happen after he’d kissed Ginny back outside St Ali’s and they’d spent the night together. He knew they’d have a list as long as a Quidditch pitch length to talk about this morning, but he hadn’t expected her to be so cold and distant in the harsh light of day. He hadn't expected her to leave without a real conversation; he hadn’t expected her to admit she still wanted to marry Neville, and implore that things were still as they’d been between them when she left him—complicated, secret and painful. And the pain of it smarted, making him feel lousy and guilty and shameful. 

He showers, taking longer under the steam and hot water than he usually would before he decides to continue his research on the Lestrange case in his office at the Ministry where he can stop walking into memories of their life here together that seem to have emerged over the past few hours in full colour and longing from the tight vault in his mind he’s been keeping them. 

He’s stepping out of the elevator on the second floor at the Ministry, his commute consumed by replaying last night over in his head for the 100th time, when Malfoy appears from an adjacent corridor and walks towards him, his grey pinstriped suit and forest green waistcoat impeccably pressed. His Auror ID is hung around his neck, indicating he’s heading out for an investigation. 

Harry’s dressed in jeans, a casual shirt, jacket and trainers, has barely slept and feels mildly under-dressed in comparison. He’d at least bought himself a milky coffee on the way in, but it’s just going cold in the white paper cup in his hand, his stomach unable to process anything more than the guilt squirming around inside it. 

“You’ve heard then?” Draco says to Harry instead of a proper greeting and Harry’s eyebrows raise. 

“Heard what?” he asks sceptically.

Malfoy grins mischievously, loving that he has the intel first. After all, Harry’s not usually in the building on Saturdays unless something is going down. And, as it turned out by sheer coincidence, something was going down...

“Lestrange tried to make a run for it. Attacked a Healer and all. I’m on my way to St Mungo’s now to check it out. Mathieson just called it in.”

“Fuck,” Harry growls wearily, stepping back into the elevator, Malfoy in tow. He keys the level for the Atrium; it’s easier to floo into St Mungo’s with the direct grate secure access to MaxSec than apparate across town and go through security. “This is exactly why I had my reservations with Lestrange being out of Azkaban in the first place. What happened?” 

“There was a change of security shift at two, which coincided with medication rounds. A Healer went in to administer a calming draught, Lestrange overpowered her and took her wand. He was searching her pockets for an ID when another Healer — your girlfriend — stopped him, stunned him and knocked him out cold. _Impressive_.” 

“Healer’s do some defensive training in the advanced courses,” Harry says drolly. “Or at least they did directly after the war.” 

Draco grins, and he looks like he’s about to tease Harry more about Cho until he realises that Harry looks dreadful. Draco narrows his eyes at him. “You look like you’ve had better mornings.”

“And worse,” Harry supplies casually, hands in pockets fishing for his ID to wear around his neck at St Mungo’s. 

“Can’t be too bad if Ms Sequins dress — whoever she is — stayed over…”

Harry eyeballs Draco carefully. 

“All that posturing about not looking for anything and ignoring every witch at The Apothecary and you still pull…I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t ducked home from Astoria’s about 6 to change for work and found the sequinned dress on the floor in the hall.”

Harry remains quiet and then a few seconds later the doors open on the Atrium level. Harry steps out quickly heading for the St Mungo’s grate, but Draco follows at his heels.

“So...who is she? Come on Potter. Give me a clue at least—“

“It was Ginny,” Harry sighs heavily. The way he says it gives Draco the distinct impression his line of questioning is to be buried. Draco’s face is painted with intrigue. _Fuck me, what a development in the mysterious break up of Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley,_ Draco ponders. His mouth opens to reply but Harry’s glare has him shutting it again quickly.

Harry hesitates as he is about to climb into the grate for St Mungo’s. 

“Can we leave it? And can you not bring it up in front of Cho?”

Draco nods, his perky attitude reined in as he watches Harry prepare to floo. “Consider it left, Boss,” he agrees.

For now at least. 

# # #

Harry’s looking carefully over the visitor logs for the last 48 hours to the MaxSec ward when Draco approaches his Auror’s notebook and notetaking quill hovering in the air beside him capturing details. Harry looks up, turning to Draco.

“What have you got?” 

Draco glances around, noticing they are within earshot of the two surly-looking Hit-Wizards dressed in grey uniforms standing guard on the double secured doors of the MaxSec wing.

Draco lowers his voice. “The security team was changing shifts when it happened. They weren’t at their posts, so if Cho hadn’t stopped him, Lestrange would likely have been able to walk right out of here. He hit his head in the struggle, and the medical team has him under a sleeping draught for now until his vitals improve. They’re going to need better resources if this is going to be long term.” 

Harry’s nods at the mention of resources, but his brow lifts in curiosity at the Hit-Wizard information. Hit-Wizards are meant to change shifts in position, not leave their posts, not on the MaxSec ward anyway. Despite not being the former Hit-Wizards on duty before the escape attempt, the two tall, broad-shouldered dark-featured men standing at the door shoot Harry furtive looks like they expect to be in trouble for the previous shifts mistake. And, frankly, they’d get a talking to, but right now they could keep. 

“The healer who was injured…?” Harry begins to ask.

“Was my second in charge, Mina Seaford,” Cho adds, appearing behind Harry and making him turn in her direction. She gives him a small smile. “Hi.”

“Hey.” 

Draco tries exceptionally hard not to comment on the weirdness of this situation.

“I’ve got to talk to Mathieson,” Draco says clearing his throat awkwardly and then, nodding towards the Hit-Wizards.

Harry nods his approval and Draco leaves, leaving Harry and Cho. 

“Is she okay?” Harry asks, referring to the other Healer, and Cho nods, her long dark hair swishing about her shoulders. She’s wearing glasses and carrying her clipboard, her wand poking out of her wand pocket on the right-hand side of her Healer’s robe. She looks tired and like she could do with a large strong cup of coffee. They’ve both had eventful mornings.

“She’s fine, but a little shaken,” Cho admits. “I was tending to another patient at the opposite end of the wing when it happened. I didn’t think I just...acted. I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I figured it was a better solution than letting him escape.”

“Lucky you did,” Harry praises. “Quick thinking, you saved us a manhunt. I thought you administered care in pairs in MaxSec?”

“We usually do,” Cho admits with a grimace, “but we're short-staffed. We only have three patients in this wing right now, so the others are assigned to areas where they are needed. I thought with the extra protection at the entry we would be fine. But there was a Hit-Wizard shift change at the same time that we didn’t know about. Usually, the shift change is every 6 hours, but this one was earlier.”

Harry frowns. “What time was it?” 

“One thirty-five? We expected the other team to be on until two.” 

Harry rubs the back of his neck and uses the movement to take a careful look down the corridor to Draco and the two Hit-Wizards. He recognises them as Aitken Matheson and Robson Taylor, but apart from their faces and ranks, and to say hello to at Ministry Family Day, Harry doesn’t know them. Robards has more to do with the Hit Wizards than Harry does. He’s always thought of them as a spell happy compared to his elite trained squad.

“Do you know the two Hit-Wizards currently on shift?” 

“No, but I’m still pretty new here,” Cho admits. “I’m told there is a rotating roster, provided by the DMLE. I recognise a couple of them, Frankie and Sage, but these two are new to the roster.” 

Harry nods, pulling out his notebook and quill, which hover in the air beside him. 

“Can you tell me exactly what happened?” Harry asks Cho, with a bit of an apologetic smile at the notebook.

Cho nods her approval to being interviewed and clears her throat a little. “I was walking back towards Lestrange’s room when I heard the commotion. I drew my wand and rushed in. He raised Mina’s wand at me...but I was quicker. It took two stunning spells to knock him out — more because I’ve haven’t had to use it in years. Once he was in a full-body bind I pulled Mina from the room. The Hit-Wizards appeared as we were exiting the room and they took over.”

“Any other witnesses?” 

“Maybe the ward matron? She was at her desk and came running to help me get Mina out of there.” 

“Good work. Honestly, it’s not as easy as it looks. When can I talk to Lestrange?” 

Cho grimaces. “He hit his head pretty badly, we’re working on the wound but he needs rest. He’s not exactly in peak physical condition.” The inference that he probably hasn’t had the best care while in Azkaban isn’t lost on Harry. 

“I have time booked Monday, two pm,” Harry presses. 

Cho nods. “I think that will be fine. I can keep you posted on his progress over the next twenty-four hours if you like.” 

“Thank you,” Harry notes her hands are trembling a little and she digs them into the pockets of her robe nervously. “Can I also get a copy of Lestrange’s file, his medication schedule and a log of any visitors to this floor in the two weeks before Lestrange arrived?”

Cho’s brow kings with concern. “You think something’s up?” 

“I just want to make sure everything is squared away,” Harry reassures her, but yeah something is going on. 

“Harry, Robards ordered us to keep him here. He doesn’t want him returning to Azkaban…”

Harry steps closer, not enough to be too close to her personal space but close enough that his voice won’t carry.

“Cho, Lestrange belongs in Azkaban. I’m going to send him straight back there, but I need evidence.”

Cho considers if for a moment before she nods. 

“Okay. I’ll make you a copy.”

“Thank you. Now, are you okay?” he asks gently, stowing his quill and notebook back in the pocket of his jacket. He reaches forward to gently pat her elbow. “Really?” 

Cho gives him a soft smile, one he’s seen a handful of times when they’ve just been alone. One that says she’s surprised by his care. “Yes, I’m okay. Thank you for asking.” 

Harry nods and smiles, telling her he’s glad to hear it. “Have you been looking after Lestrange since he got here last week?”

Cho eyeballs him curiously, knowing that from Harry’s tone that Lestrange being at St Mungo’s is a sore point he’s not going to openly acknowledge. 

She nods carefully. “Yes. I’ve been sharing primary care with another senior, Jackton Crossley. We were told that his care was confidential, so that’s why most of the ward is locked down to staff and patients.” 

“I know Crossley. We were at the Academy together. I was fast-tracking though and he was a Senior. I had a couple of classes with him. He moved into Healing a few years ago. He’s a good bloke.” 

“Yeah, he’s taught me a lot since I’ve been here,” Cho smiles. “It’s a bit different from the private healer practice in Liverpool I’ll give you that.” 

Harry smiles; he bets. 

“I think that’s all for now,” he tells her and lowers his voice, “but be safe, okay? Lestrange is vindictive by nature. If he remembers you stunned him he’ll try to repay you for your efforts. We need to make sure that no one is left alone with him. I’ll get you additional resources in this wing; I'll talk to Hermione this afternoon and confirm details as soon as I can. And if you think of anything, anything at all that seems out of place, let me know.” 

Cho nods appreciatively. “I will, thank you, Harry. How’s Teddy?” she asks, with a smile, remembering Harry’s godson fondly from the Summer and a couple of times she’s met him.

“He’s great. Thanks for asking. No trouble at all with his arm I’m told. Played an excellent game of Quidditch against Slytherin last week.” 

Cho grins. “Good to hear.” But her smile falters a little as she chews at her bottom lip nervously. “So, I um...I’ve started seeing someone.” 

Harry doesn’t even bother to hide his surprise. Things between him and Cho weren’t exclusive, and they actually hadn’t really seen each other romantically for a few weeks, not since he’d impromptu turned up on her doorstep with a bottle of wine the night Ginny’s engagement notice had made The Daily Prophet two months ago. He’d felt a bit guilty about his behaviour that night, using Cho to satisfy his longing for Ginny, so he’d been a bit hesitant to initiate anything since then; Cho didn’t deserve to get caught up in his Ginny spiral. They’d had a quick lunch since then, and also a dinner date, but the whole vibe had changed a little, and Harry suspected that was mostly his fault.

“Right, that’s great,” he tells her, a little too enthusiastically, and it has Cho a little unsure. 

“Yeah?” She asks, scepticism written on her face. 

Harry tries to reassure her with a genuine smile. Because the reality is that, yeah he is happy for her. Anything between them was casual; he had no real illusions that what they had was going to be anything long term. “Yeah, I’m happy for you.” 

“It’s only new, but I wanted you to know…we hadn’t defined what this was...” she gestures between the two of them and then concedes, giving him a gentle smile. 

“We weren’t exclusive or anything,” Harry agrees, and then clears his throat. “Cho, I’m really glad you’ve found someone. But ah, can I ask though…” he hesitates, does he want to open this can of worms? And then he just does it. “Why didn't you want to...erm, see me?”

Cho’s eyebrows disappear under her fringe in surprise, and Harry regrets the question immediately. _Jesus Potter. Could you be any worse at this stuff?_

Cho’s smile colours a little with pity and Harry wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole...or you know, that Draco, who is very clearly still watching them out of the corner of his eye would be his Dracoish selfish and walk right over and interrupt.

“You’re great and all, really Harry,” Cho says, and it quickly becomes an incredibly awkward situation. “But, ah, I kind of got the impression you weren’t serious about anyone but Ginny? I hope you don’t mind me saying…but I didn’t think you were looking for anything with anyone else?”

And Harry has to admit, it’s pretty spot on. And he’s quite thankful for Cho’s candour. She’s right, he’d done very little over the two years since Ginny had left him to act interested in anyone but Ginny. And last night was a testament to that. 

Harry awkwardly flattens his messy hair. “No, I guess I was pretty bad at the dating thing. Being hung up on my ex is probably a red flag,” he admits with a small smile that has the corners of Cho’s mouth twitching a little in amusement as she tries to suppress a smile too. 

“We all have baggage Harry,” she replies sympathetically, patting his arm. “Welcome to dating in your 30s.”

# # # 

“What I still don’t understand…” Draco drawls lazily, picking another dumpling from the takeaway container in front of him with his chopsticks, “is why Robards had Lestrange moved from Azkaban earlier this week and monitored without you knowing…”

Harry, who had just finished clearing his plate of noodles, frowns and reaches for his bottle of beer. He groans with annoyances as his fingers trace the muggle beer label. After St Mungo’s he’d spent the rest of the afternoon at the office tackling the stupidly large pile of paperwork on his desk while Draco wrote up the notes from their visit and added them to Lestrange’s investigation file. A copy of that file was now spread out on the table between them and included every report the Ministry had ever filed on Lestrange, before and during both wars, and the time since. It was over 500 pages long. 

“Yeah that bit fucks me off too if I am honest,” Harry admits. “He was under observation nearly four days before Robards raised it. And I checked the visitor logs -- Robards has visited Lestrange every morning and night since his admission. Why?”

“Morbid curiosity?” Draco suggests, pointing to the container of karaage chicken by Harry’s elbow, that Harry wandlessly sends across the tabletop and into Draco’s grip with the nudge of his fingers. Draco rolls his eyes. Show off. 

“I don’t know,” Harry says, scratching his hand through his beard as he mulls that thought over. “I feel like I’m only getting part of the story. I need to talk to Hermione about it. Azkaban has been under her jurisdiction for a while as she looks to overhaul the system. Some powers that be are starting to argue that the current Azkaban system isn’t exactly humane. Which is saying something given twelve years ago Dementors ran it and no one cared at all.” 

“Sounds like it’s getting political,” Draco says, summoning a fresh beer over from the kitchen bench for both of them with his wand. “I’ll leave _that_ whole conundrum to you for now.” With another flick of his wand, Draco summons a piece of paper from underneath the spread of paper before them and hands it to Harry. “Meanwhile, I’ve been thinking about a timeline for a possible _Voldertrix_ baby…”

Harry makes a disgusted face but takes the paper. “Mildly terrifying term, but it works,” he admits.

He sits forward, tucking his legs back under the table as he leans over to carefully examine the drawing. On it Draco has crudely drawn a timeline of Bellatrix’s life, plotting the basics including birth and death, but also earmarking everything they know about her movements during the war, including the rough dates Bellatrix was broken out of prison, and the dates she spent living in the compound at Malfoy Castle. In green ink between May 1997 and May 1998, Draco has drawn a green box and written _‘Baby?_ ’ in his tidy cursive hand.

“I think 1997 could check out,” Draco says. “I don’t remember any indications that she was pregnant during that time but the reality is she wouldn’t be the first witch to hide it. I think we should check with my Mother or Andromeda to see if it is plausible. Not that Andromeda was on speaking terms with them at the time but you know, sisters and all…? She might have some insight.”

Harry looks up at Draco, impressed that he’d taken him morning to get a headstart on the case. Harry, on the other hand, had been having messy conversations with Ginny and wallowing in their night of infidelity. He needed to get his head in this case. 

“This is excellent work Draco,” Harry praises, placing the timeline down on the top of the pile. “I am going to see Andy for dinner tomorrow night. I can do some digging then.”

Draco nods, conceding that even though Draco’s turned against the rest of his family, that hasn’t meant all bridges were mended with his estranged Aunt that was akin to family to Harry. There was a lot of water under the Malfoy/Black bridge. 

Harry decides he needs to change the subject. “So, Cho is seeing someone new.”

Draco’s demeanour changes. “Tough break. But given your visitor last night...guess it’s for the best.”

“This thing with Ginny is a mess,” Harry admits, swiping his hand across his tired face. 

Draco smiles. “Didn’t think you had it in you to sleep with an engaged woman…you Potter, are full of surprises.” 

“It wasn’t like that…” but Draco just raises an eyebrow in reply. 

“Okay yes, she’s engaged,” Harry concedes. 

“To Longbottom,” Draco says matter-of-factly, sniggering just a little. 

“Hey, he dated my ex first,” Harry replies a little indigently and Draco’s smile widens. 

“So you slept with his fiance? Low blow.”

Harry sighs heavily. “Draco, you know it’s not like that. I miss her.”

Draco’s face softens and he nods. He does have a bit of sympathy with Harry on this. He’d seen what they’d been like together, the freaking toast of the town, the Wizarding World’s Golden Couple. And they’d genuinely been really happy. 

“I know,” Draco says. “You’re not rubbish with women because you want to, it’s a choice. I’ve seen you dial up the charm. You’re capable of it. Is it a thing now, you and Ginny? You know, behind Longbottom’s back?”

Harry shakes his head and takes another mouthful of beer. “No. She made it clear she’s still going to marry Neville. And that it was over between us.”

Draco leans back in his chair and scrubs a hand across his chin. “Is it though? In my experience, it’s never just the once.” Harry raises an eyebrow and Draco shrugs. “What? I’ve done some things I’m not proud of before I met Astoria. You don’t have exclusivity on infidelity Potter..”

Harry nods; he understands that sentiment completely. He’s not proud of what he did last night. “It’s fucked up you know, but I don’t even care because it’s her. And I got to be with her again. It felt like nothing had changed..” 

“Have you thought about stopping the wedding?” 

“What, turning up and objecting?” 

Draco wrinkles his nose in displeasure. “That’s such a muggle response, no. That doesn’t even happen in wizarding weddings...Ginny’s got like six brothers, all married bar one. Surely you’ve noticed there is no objection clause? We just don’t care enough. I mean, have you thought about making a move? Have you told Ginny that you want to be with her?” 

“I mean yes, I think it was implied…my feelings haven’t changed. I still want to be with her today as much as I did twelve years ago.” 

“But did you say those words?”

Harry wracks his brain, but last night and this morning was now a bit of a blur. A lot was said. And a lot was still unsaid. He’d made himself clear, hadn’t he?

“Of a kind,” Harry admits. 

Draco sighs, twisting the beer bottle absentmindedly on the table. “For fuck sake, Potter. How did you date her in the first place?” 

It’s rhetorical. Everyone in the wizarding world knows the story about sixteen-year-old Harry Potter kissing a fifteen-year-old Ginny Weasley in the Gryffindor Common Room after winning the 1997 Hogwarts Quidditch championship. Ginny and Harry had learned quickly after the war that the best way to keep as much privacy as possible was to tell the press enough about their relationship to keep them sated. Bits and pieces of their private life trickled through the papers, but they always controlled the narrative. And they’d done the same thing when they’d broken up. They’d formed a story and spoke openly to the press about it. But it was the first time in their entire public relationship that the story had been a flat out lie. 

But Draco’s frustrations set something bubbling inside Harry he can’t quite contain. The truth. The truth about how he was truly in this situation. The truth he’d hidden from so many people. He’d told the story just twice, once to Hermione, and once to Andy and that had been it. Even Ron didn’t know the full truth. And admittedly, it was the lie that had driven a wedge between him and Harry. Ron, and by extension the wider Weasley family, lived in the blissful ignorance that Harry and Ginny after a decade together simply grew apart. Their split had been amicable and then, eventually, Harry had turned his back on the Wesley family, and Ginny had moved on with Neville. Ginny had asked Harry to keep the lie; and because he loved her, he had. 

But how much did that lie matter anymore if Ginny was going to marry Neville anyway?

“Do you remember the Andrews case? Two years ago?” Harry asks. 

Draco thinks for a moment, leaving Harry to sip again at his beer, and then Draco nods.

“Yeah, it was one of my first weeks at the Ministry. Weasley’s team had it. They were investigating a group of wizards in Brighton experimenting on Muggles. Weasley got injured during the raid. He caught the crossfire of an Exploso curse. He was in a coma for two weeks and then resigned. Never returned to The Auror Office.”

“It nearly killed him,” Harry says solemnly. “I was meant to be there during the raid with my team, but I wasn't.” Harry swallows thickly. God, one he says these words he can’t take them back. But he does it anyway. It’s been a hell of a day. What’s another bombshell? “The night before — Ginny and I found out that she’d lost our baby at 16 weeks. It had been a boy. We were going to call him Frederick James.”

“After Ginny’s brother and your Dad,” Draco croaks, and Harry nods. 

“Yeah, the poor little guy had a lot riding on his shoulders. It crushed Gin. Like absolutely crushed her. And I tried so hard to be there for her but I was useless. Blinded by my grief...by my guilt for Ron...for the baby. For Ginny. I was a wreck. And by the time Ron had regained consciousness, Ginny had left me.” 

“Potter, I don’t know what to say,” Draco admits after a heavy sigh. “I mean, you both had this story about childhood sweethearts that grew apart. I had no idea there was more to the story.” 

Harry shrugs. “No one does. Ginny had wanted to tell her parents about the pregnancy at Christmas as a surprise...but we lost him a couple of weeks before. By the time Christmas had rolled around, Ron was in physical therapy... and the loss had torn me and Gin apart. Neither of us could bring ourselves to ever tell anyone what had happened, so we lied. But I’ve never stopped loving her.” 

Draco gives him a small smile. “I’ve kind of always figured that was the case.”

“She was at the bar last night, for her Hen’s night. It’s like it cracked something open inside us. We tried to talk about it but...one thing led to another and we slept together. I thought, foolishly that we were making some progress...but I misread the whole thing. She’s going to marry Neville Draco, no matter what I say or do. She doesn’t want to be with me.” 

They sit in silence for a while, Draco absorbing all the information, Harry feeling wretched and overwrought. He thought telling someone would make him feel better, but it just made his chest ache. For Baby Fred. For Ginny. For the life they could have had together. 

“We were making plans to rent this place out,” Harry says pointing to the kitchen around them. “We’d found a place in Godric’s Hollow, a new little place we could make our own, and we were going to move it there and start our family. Get a dog. I was going to do the stay at home Dad thing for a while — easier for me to take some time off than Gin really, so we had this plan. This big five-year plan. And you know, after the shock of parenthood started to wear off, we wanted two more kids. And probably another dog. And...I have none of that you know? I wanted that life with Ginny so bad, it’s all I’ve wanted since we first started dating. And now she’s going to have that with someone else.”

“Neville Longbottom,” Draco says.

“Yeah,” Harry sighs. Jesus, he feels like shite.

“You know, I’ve read that report, Harry. Ron getting injured in the Andrew’s raid wasn’t your fault…” Draco adds, but Harry shakes his head. 

“It’s my team. Everything that happens is my responsibility. When someone in our team is hurt, nearly killed in the field...that’s on me. It’s my responsibility to get you all home safe each night. I should have been there not only as Ron’s boss… but Ron’s friend. And I failed both during and after the incident to show up and be those things.”

Draco takes a deep breath. “Mate, don’t you think it’s time that maybe you cut yourself a break?” Draco gestures to the spread of paper on the table before them. “I think you’ve got enough demons to deal with right now. Maybe it’s time to start letting some of them go..”

# # #

S U N D A Y.

A crackle sounds from the kitchen, and Hermione turns from where she is buttering toast at the kitchen bench as the flames in the fireplace turn yellow-green. A moment later Ron appears, leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder, his appearance a little dishevelled in khaki slacks, old trainers, a grey jumper and an old tan leather jacket. He grins as he steps out of the fireplace and pulls Hermione in for a quick kiss. 

“Hi, love,” he tells her softly, arms wrapped around her waist, nose brushing against hers tenderly. 

But they barely get a small moment before Rosie has jumped off the couch in the adjacent lounge and runs in to greet her dad. 

“Daddy!” She says happy, and Ron turns, sweeping Rosie up and onto his hip, smothering her in kisses.

“You’re home early,” Hermione tells him. “Wasn’t expecting you until tonight…Ginny is here…”

Ron waves to Ginny seated in the adjacent lounge. 

“Morning Gin. A bit lonely at your place huh?” He jokes stepping into the lounge area and Ginny grins.

“We decided to have a Girl’s weekend,” she says brightly with a nonchalant shrug. “I’ll take any opportunity I can for a sleepover with Rosie-Posey..” 

Ron waggles his eyebrows at his daughter making her smile as he tickles her a little. “Good Hen’s then?” He asks.

“Great,” Hermione says cheerfully. “We went to The Leaky Cauldron, The Phoenix and The Apothecary. And then we were home and in bed before 2.” Hermione was at least so it isn’t much of a lie. And Ginny was too, it just wasn’t her bed. Hermione exchanges a discrete look with Ginny, encouraging her to chime in. 

“Lots of fun, largely uneventful,” Ginny lies with a smile as she and Hermione had rehearsed. “Anyway, what are you doing home? I thought you boys were going to see Montrose play Puddlemere this afternoon. That game doesn’t start until noon.” 

Ron blanches a little and pulls Rosie a bit closer. “You haven’t heard from Nev then?”

“No, what happened?” Ginny asks, getting to her feet and walking into the kitchen. 

Ron hands Rosie to Hermione with a serious look and Hermione takes the cue that they need a bit of privacy. Hermione returns to the spot on the couch where Ginny and Rosie had been reading picture books while Hermione made breakfast.

“Hannah’s dad died,” Ron says softly, clearing his throat nervously, once Rosie is out of earshot.

“Oh wow…” Hermione breathes, looking pointedly at Ginny over the back of the couch whose mouth is open in shock. 

“We called it a day. He wanted some time to process…” 

Ginny nods, gulping in some air. “Yeah, of course. He was still really close to Richard. Is he at home, I should probably go?”

Ginny turns, uses her wand to Accio her things from the guest bedroom and prepares to leave. Ron looks back at her a little uncomfortable, rubbing his neck nervously. She’s wearing a pair of Hermione’s jeans and a jumper which she’ll return later.

“He was going to see Hannah for a bit,” he says, then adds nervously, “You know how they’re still friends…”

Ginny reassures him with a smile. “Yes Ron, some people are still friends with their exes. It’s fine. I just wanted to see him is all.” Ginny quickly kisses Hermione on the cheek as she passes behind the back of the couch. “Thanks for letting me stay for the weekend.”

“Anytime,” Hermione says, and she means it. “I’ll walk you out…” she says to Ginny, before looking back at Ron, who steps forward to take Rosie, making her giggle as he gives her more kisses.

“Bye love,” Ginny says, kissing Rosie on the head softly as she passes, and Rosie waves her aunt goodbye enthusiastically. 

“Ginny, you still have to tell him,” Hermione whispers when they reach the privacy of the hall. “Awful timing but you only have a week. You can’t lie about something like this for the rest of your life. If you want to do this properly, you need to be honest with Neville, and accept the repercussions.” 

“I know,” Ginny says. “I will,” but her face falls a little. 

“Hey, I love you and I am here for you. No matter what.”

“I love you too,” Ginny says, giving her a big hug. 

# # # 

Ginny’s sitting alone at the small wooden kitchen table that had once belonged to Alice and Frank Longbottom nursing a cup of tea and reading the sports section of The Daily Prophet when she hears the front door unlock, knowing Neville is finally home. 

She stands quickly, a sick sense of dread settling into the already tight knot of her stomach. She’d been expecting him after lunch but he’s late and it’s now mid-afternoon.

“Gin?” Neville calls, and Ginny emerges in the hallway with a comforting smile. 

“Hi love,” she says and he gives her a sad look, drawing her into his arms. 

She can feel her hands shake as she embraces him, and she has to fight the instant urge to just blurt everything out. But Ginny senses a certain shift in Neville as his arms wind around her more tightly, and his body seems to sag against hers, like he’s leaning on her for strength.

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

Neville shakes his head, burying his face into her neck, the floral scent of her perfume a balm for his aching heart. 

“No,” he admits softly, before pulling back a little so he can look at her. 

He’s almost a foot taller than her, and he brushes his palm against her cheek softly as he looks at this beautiful woman just six days away from being his wife. 

“No,” he repeats sadly. “I’m sad and numb...” 

Ginny nods her face falls and her hand grasp for his. 

“Nev, I’m sorry,” she says, pulling him into a hug again. 

She holds him close, her resolve to tell him everything faltering in light of this news. She holds onto him tightly, hoping the strength of her hug tells him that she loves him because she does…

“I’ve taken a few extra days off work,” he sniffs, stepping out of her embrace. She realises he has an overnight bag with him, dropped near the door. “Gin, I know this is awful timing, but you’re playing and training until Wednesday anyway, so I thought I might go and stay with Hannah for a couple of days if that’s okay? I’ve just come from hers...she’s a mess, needs some help sorting through things and she doesn’t have anyone else who knows her Dad as well…”

Ginny nods, tucking her hands as nonchalantly as she can manage into the back pockets of her jeans under her white jumper.

“You want to stay with her for a few days?” Ginny clarifies softly, a bit taken back by Neville’s request.

A look of confusion crosses Neville’s face as he realises that maybe he’s done this around the wrong way, asking too much of his fiancé days before their wedding. 

“I mean, it’d be okay if I stay with Hannah right? We’re still friends…” 

Ginny nods quickly, reassuring him it’s okay.

“Yeah, yeah of course, totally fine. I know how close you were with her Dad too, so yeah, Nev, I get it. Being there for her right now makes sense, there is no issue.”

Neville smiles, relieved. 

“I’m so lucky to have you,” he says, pulling her close again, cupping her face tenderly. 

Ginny tries to smile as naturally she can, but it’s like her face aches instantly under the strain of the lie. The anxiety starts to set in, her body trembling now.

“I’m the lucky one,” she tells him, trying to sidestep the conversation. “And yeah, I’m playing until Wednesday night, and everything is all organised and such for the wedding, so yeah, it makes perfect sense if Hannah needs you, you should be there for her.” 

“You’re sure?” Neville asks. “If you feel uncomfortable at all-”

“I don’t,” Ginny reassures him with what she hopes is a big convincing smile.

“Thank you,” Neville signs with relief, and then turns to grab his overnight bag. “I just need to change out some clothes and grab a couple of things,” he says, gently pushing past her. 

“You’re not staying for a bit? Maybe for dinner?” Ginny hopes.

“No,” he says absentmindedly, stepping into their bedroom right off the hall. “I said I wouldn’t be long.” 

“Right,” Ginny says following him. “Of course. Um,” Ginny hesitates, brushing her palm against her forehead as she watches Neville open the duffel, pull out some dirty clothes and begin replacing them. “I hoped we might have some time to chat…” 

Neville looks up, stowing some fresh jeans and t-shirts in the bag. “Everything okay?” he asks a little absentmindedly, trying to seem interested but also rather focused on making sure he’s got the right attire for the next few days out of Hogwarts robes.

“Nev,” Ginny tries but she’s at a complete loss. What the fuck is she going to do? 

Neville stops, suddenly self-conscious at Ginny’s reaction as she folds her arms nervous across her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together.

“Gin, what’s going on?”

“I slept with Harry,” her voice says softly like a curse she’s ashamed of.

Ginny is frozen, unsure how or why the words came out of her mouth as they did. _Fuck. Fuck. Buggering fuck. That was awful, just awful..._

Neville blinks, his hands hovering on the zip of his bag. 

“Right,” he says grimly. 

Ginny steps forward. “Nev-” 

“Stop,” Neville says softly, his hand raises to her, palms out, in a please don’t come near me gesture. “When?”

“Nev-” Ginny starts, her voice breaking a little.

“ _When_?” Neville says, enunciating the word dangerously slowly. And Ginny has to admit it’s fucking formidable the look he’s giving her. And she can’t fault him for it. She knows she deserves this. 

“Friday night.” Ginny’s voice falters as he looks down at his bag and zips it up. “Nev…”

Neville barks out a bitter laugh, that echoes around the bedroom, rubbing his face soberly with his hands. 

“You know, I don’t care what you have to say about it Gin,” he sighs heavily. “I’ve felt like rubbish all afternoon just _seeing_ Hannah and we’re still mates. And I get here and tell you and you’re all okay with it and I think it’s because you're the most amazing woman in the world and actually, here you are, shagging Harry a week out from our wedding.”

“I know,” she says sadly, eyes brimming with tears. “Nev, I’m sorry I am, it just happened and....” 

Neville shakes his head vehemently, hauling his duffel off the bed.

“I think we both know that’s complete bollocks, Gin. I know you still love him. But that’s never been an issue between us because we were on the same page. This is you, very much _not_ on the same page as me.” 

Ginny follows him back into the hallway. “Nev...” 

Neville stops and turns his face stony. 

“What would you do if it was me and Hannah?” he asks softly. “If I had just come home and said, Hi Ginny, I just shagged Hannah…”

And Ginny winces a little at his mocking tone and chokes back a sob. 

“I’d probably leave,” she says earnestly, swiping at the guilty hot tears streaming down her cheek.

“Right.” And Neville frowns, hoisting the duffel over his shoulder and reaching for the door handle.

Right,” Ginny says her hands shaking so violently she can feel her whole body trembling. “So you’re just going to go then?” She says desperately, trying to get him to keep talking, trying to get him to stay and talk this through. The trouble is, he’s too damn...nice...to just end it with her. 

Neville sighs hopelessly. “I said I’d help Hannah, Ginny.” He says firmly, stunning her with the bluntness, but she guesses she is the first to break his heart like this so they are in uncharted territory. 

“You won’t talk it through-?“ she tries but she’s hit a nerve and his temper flares.

“I DON’T WANT TO TALK IT THROUGH!” Neville bellows back. 

Ginny blinks, tears sliding down her cheek freely now. 

“Harry and I aren’t getting back together Neville. It was a one-time thing. I told him I want to marry you....”

Neville sighs deeply, his eyes on the ceiling. He tries to disconnect from this, tries to rein in how he feels about this. Richard’s death is more important right now than Ginny and Harry....wedding be damned. 

“You’re not broken Ginny, but you do a mighty fine job at breaking things.” His voice is low and calm and sad and all Ginny can do is nod earnestly in reply, choking back tears, as Neville turns, and leaves, leaving her crumpling to her knees in the hall.


	4. But nothing ever stops you leaving…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny unravels after her confession to Neville, and Harry makes two big decisions regarding his case and his future in Godric's Hollow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the incredible comments; the support for this story has been amazing. Admittedly this chapter isn't as polished and I'd planned but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

4: BUT NOTHING EVER STOPS YOU LEAVING…

M O N D A Y.

Guilt bubbles uncomfortably in Ginny stomach, making her breath catch painfully in her chest as she catches her reflection in the long dress mirror Molly had conjured in her daughter’s former bedroom, now sewing room, to see the dress in all its glory. It was Weasley family tradition that mothers sew their daughter’s wedding dresses, and after weeks of working, with Fleur’s assistance, Molly had finally completed the dream gown Ginny had envisioned for her nuptials to Neville with just a few days to spare. 

“You’re quiet,” Molly tells her youngest with a small smile, as she fiddles with the last few buttons that line the back of the strapless lace trumpet-shaped dress. 

She catches Ginny’s eye in the mirror, the peaky, pale and freckled reflection looking back at her. Ginny smiles softly, her freckles more pronounced against her alabaster and tired skin. Ginny had barely managed a couple of hours of sleep overnight, her puffy eyes a testament to the long hours she cried curled up on the sofa in the living room anxiously waiting and hoping for Neville to return after their fight. But, he hadn’t, and after a restless night, Ginny had left for her gruelling dawn training session in Holyhead feeling wrung-out, anxious and sick. She’d fought back tears through the strategy meeting, bursting to confide in Gwen but worried that vocalising any fears that Neville had left her for good, despite not saying it was absolutely over himself, would only manifest the horrible final dissolution of their relationship. 

If her plans to visit her mother for lunch and do the final fitting of the dress today hadn’t been long-standing, Ginny would have found an excuse to be far away from The Burrow and the observant and keen eye of her mother, who had been studying her carefully since she’d arrived. Ginny knew she had to perk up, give Molly some sort of spark of normal Ginny, but the truth was, it was hard to conjure in the hangover of things. She felt the cold dread of loneliness and worry wash over her in waves like it had done for weeks and weeks after she’d walked out on Harry. 

What the actual fuck had she done...? Was she kidding herself to think that Neville hadn’t ended things yesterday? He’d been angry and hurt and definitive in his accusations of her damage...but he hadn’t said he didn’t want to marry her..had he?

“It’s beautiful Mum, _stunning_...” Ginny says a little breathlessly, her hands caressing the fabric reverently. The silk lace had been charmed to shimmer in the light, and as a Ginny moved it shimmers beautifully against her shape even in the gloomy November sunlight coming through the window. “I can’t believe how incredible it turned out.” 

Molly smiles widely, her eyes watering with happy tears a little as her heart fills full of love and pride for Ginny. She’s successful and happy and about to be married to a man she loves. Neville might not be the son-in-law Molly expected, truth be told she’d already long though of Harry as Ginny’s soulmate and perfectly fitted other half, but Neville was kind and thoughtful, and he’d made Ginny smile more in the last six months than she’d seen in long months before...and for Molly, that was something. The breakup with Harry, while amicable, had taken a lot of time to fully heal. 

“Fleur helped,” Molly admits candidly with a wink, stepping around to examine the front of the dress carefully, making sure it clings perfectly to her daughter’s slender athletic figure. “She should have been a seamstress that girl, terribly gifted with a wand and fabric. She made the most beautiful navy little number for me to wear on Saturday. Covers all my lumps and bumps wonderfully.” 

“Mum,” Ginny admonishes, “you honestly look amazing in whatever you wear...”

Molly grins, taking her daughter’s face in her hands gently, caressing her washed-out cheek. Ginny’s tired but amused eyes twinkle back at her, her sleepless night already leaving dark shadows under her eyes. Molly inwardly frowns, worried that those dark circles are something more sinister, having noticed her daughter carrying herself with increasing fragility as the past couple of hours had worn on. “You are just as skilled in lying about my appearance as your father...and I love you for it,” Molly winks. “How are you feeling now? Only a few days left until you become a Longbottom...”

“I’m excited,” Ginny says, even though she feels something more akin to full panic right now, her stomach somersaulting a little with the fib. Molly continues her circle around Ginny scanning for adjustments, moving now to her left side, crouching a little to examine a small thread near Ginny’s left knee. “But I’m not taking Neville’s name...”

Molly sighs as she looks up at her daughter. “Not you too,” she says before Ginny can finish. “Granger-Wesley is mouthful enough for poor little Rosie...”

Ginny chuckles; going with the conjoined last name of Granger-Weasley after their wedding had certainly caused a stir in the traditional Weasley family, who with five adult sons, four married with children, had added ten wives and children to the family name. 

“No, Mum, I mean, I’m just keeping Weasley,” Ginny says. “I’ve built my career on my name. I’ve played for England with my name. I’m not about to change it just because I’m getting married.” 

“And Neville is okay with that?” Molly asks carefully, not wanting to show that she disapproves, because she doesn’t, but trying to be as diplomatic as possible. 

The archaic question angered Ginny for a moment before she realised that she and Neville had never actually had the conversation...it had been her and Harry who had decided that when they got married, when Harry finally got around to asking her, and they wed, Ginny would keep playing publicly under her name Weasley. In fact, it had been his suggestion. 

_ “You’ve built so much on your name, I would never expect you to give it up just because you marry me,” Harry had told her one night, as they lay in bed, his hand soft and comforting over her growing belly.  _

_ “The kids should have your name though,” Ginny had said with a big smile, entwining her fingers on his. “None of this double-barrel stuff either. Potters, through and through, because Merlin knows they’ll all be born with black messy hair and it’ll throw off the whole Weasley aesthetic.”  _

_ Harry had propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her, her head on his pillow. “Are you saying you’re embarrassed by my genetic contribution to our family, Weasley?” He’d teased. “I know there are some genetic contributions you do enjoy...” _

_ Ginny laughed, Harry grinning down at her. She’d shaken her head tenderly and rested a palm on his cheek. “I could never be ashamed of your knobbly knees and terrible eyesight...” _

_ “Hey!” He’d growled, burrowing his face in her neck, eliciting a fit of giggles from her as his nose and lips bushes against the ticklish patch under her ear... _

“...Yes,” Ginny found herself lying, her gaze flicking back to her mother’s curious face. “He’s completely on board.” 

“Well, Neville may be on board, but has anyone mentioned it to Augusta?” Molly asks with a smile, moving behind Ginny again. “I’m pretty sure she’s not as modern as her grandson and his future wife. She laughed in my face when I explained that Ron had changed his name to Granger-Weasley. Said it was, and I quote, ‘bloody ridiculous’.”

Oh fuck, Augusta. If she ever found out about Harry... Ginny’s pretty sure she’d have a lot of nasty things to throw Ginny’s way. She was fiercely protective of Neville still to this day. It’s the final straw for Ginny, the last bit of pressure she can bare on top of the guilt, shame, anxiety and worry on Neville’s lack of contact. Tears prickle at Ginny’s eyes, and before Ginny realised she’s sobbing, loudly, like the waves of anxiety have washed over her, not like tidal waves, but an emotional tsunami...

“Ginny!” Molly startles, grabbing her quickly around the middle as Ginny’s knees buckle, and her head spins, small pinpricks of light sparkling in her blurry vision. 

A few minutes later, Ginny is sitting on the small single bed by the wall, her skin red, blotchy down her neck and chest, her body clammy to touch in the aftermath of Ginny can only describe as the worst panic attack she’d ever experienced. They had happened infrequently over the years, mostly related to nightmares about the war or losing Harry, but this had been the first one she’d had in a long while. She’d had a few since she’d left Harry, all related to Baby Fred, and the undeniable guilt she felt for her unborn son’s lost and fragile life, but since Neville had proposed she’d not had a panicked thought, let alone a full physical, gasping sensory overriding blinding reaction. And sitting now in her nude unsexy but dress skimming underwear on the side of her bed feeling naked, Ginny can’t work out if it is the exhaustion, worry about Neville or the sight of the worlds most perfect wedding dress for what is shaping up to be the world’s least perfect bride, that’s sent her spiralling. 

There is a soft knock on the ajar door, bare-knuckle wrapping lightly on wood, and then Molly appears, a tea tray with a large white teapot, two cups, and a plate of cheese and pickle triangle cut sandwiches hovering beside her. It is just them in the house today, but Molly leaves the door mostly closed for privacy, but not fully shut, helping ease the anxiety still obviously rolling through her daughter’s sitting but highly alert form. 

“Though some sandwiches might help,” Molly says kindly, handing Ginny the plate, and Gin takes them gratefully, realising she hadn’t bothered to eat since breakfast yesterday despite her usually voracious appetite. 

Molly busies herself sitting the tea tray on top of the small chest of drawers by the door, pouring a strong black tea for herself, and adding milk and half a sugar for Ginny in the larger mug she’s liked since her teen years. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Molly notices that Ginny’s hands tremble as she feebly bites into the second triangle of sandwich, the fresh bread while tasty, feeling like glue in her dry mouth. 

The wedding dress shimmers from its hook on the back of the bedroom door, the early afternoon light from the window by the sewing table and full-length mirror lighting up the room. 

“Sorry,” Ginny apologises before Molly has a chance to broach the silence again, “the dress really is beautiful Mum, I love it...”

“I know,” Molly says gently, finally sitting down beside her daughter, teacups for both of them in her hands. 

Ginny smiles at her, albeit it weakly, as she takes her milky tea and sips at it...and the warmth feels revitalising against the cool grey day outside. 

“I think maybe I’m exhausted?” Ginny admits softly trying to justify the turn. “Barely slept last night. Barely slept all weekend.” She adds as an afterthought, given the quizzically curious look Molly is giving her, “Worried about Wednesday’s match I think. It’s a big one and this morning’s training took it out of me. Tea and sandwiches are good, ta Mum.” 

Ginny gingerly gets to her feet, gently placing the half-drunk tea and still full plate back on the tray, before reaching for the light blue slim fit jeans and Holyhead green knitted jumper her mother had given her years ago, the worn holes around the neck and hem now fashionable over the staple white tee Ginny’s got about ten of in her wardrobe. She’s barely got a foot in one leg of her jeans when Molly speaks again. 

“Gin, are you pregnant?” 

Ginny freezes, shocked for a brief moment, before she barks with laugher, completely tickled that the conclusion her mother had drawn from this couldn’t be more off base. 

“Pregnant...?” Ginny laughs, shimmying her jeans up over her thighs and hips. “Merlin, Mum. No, I’m not pregnant.” 

“And you’re sure?” Molly prods as Gin pops the button closed. “I mean, the dizzy spell...the restless sleep...the quick wedding...”

Ginny’s mouth drops open at the last one. 

“You think I’m marrying Neville because I’m pregnant?” 

“No,” Molly explains softly, “I don’t think that...it would just explain why you moved so quickly to get married though...”

Ginny turns in Molly’s direction, who is now looking suitably wide-eyed and innocent sitting on the floral bedspread holding a cup of tea. Ginny fights the urge to respond hotly and firmly deny being pregnant or that the wedding has been a fast development...because if she’s honest, the wedding had moved fast. Neville had only asked her a few weeks ago. And while she’s one hundred per cent certain than she is not pregnant, she couldn’t be pregnant, she could see how it might look that way. Audrey had been twelve weeks pregnant with little Molly when she and Percy had got married, and George and Angelina had skirted the cuff themselves, claiming Arthur Jr was born prematurely and that he’d been conceived on their honeymoon in Spain, not as Molly had come to suspect four weeks before their nuptials. 

“Mum,” Ginny says patiently, “I’m really not pregnant, I swear. And I know the wedding seems fast, but Neville and I just want to get on with it you know? It’s the next logical step for us.” 

It was, frankly, the next and only step for them. A family, unlike her brother’s marriages, was not part of their plan. 

“I thought that’s why Harry maybe hadn’t RSVP’d to the invite?” Molly found herself saying. “Because you were going to announce you and Neville were having a baby and...”

“I’m sorry Mum, Harry hasn’t responded because he simply can’t make it.” The reality was Harry hadn’t RSVP’d the wedding because even though Molly had asked if by chance Ginny would invite her ex, as it would very much please Molly to have her whole family, included her adopted son, back under the same roof for the first time since Molly and Arthur’s Anniversary party the year before, Ginny had said she would but hadn’t. The little invite with gold cursive letting adorned with Harry’s name had instead, almost serendipitously, ended up burning to ash in the Slough House kitchen fireplace. 

Ginny finds herself bracing for another lie, and tries to avoid her mother’s gaze by continuing to dress as she says, “He’s working a big important case right now...” Ginny didn’t know that, but years as his patient girlfriend had shown that ever case he took on was big and important in Harry’s eyes...which is what made him so spectacular at his job. “And he can’t make it on Saturday. You know how it is.” 

And okay, maybe she’s overselling it, because in ten years together, had had only missed two or three big family events, and on every occasion had only done so under duress either because he was hospitalised or unconscious. He was the type of man who would work for four days without sleep to solve a case, and then turn up to his partner’s teammate’s sister’s housewarming with a bottle of expensive wine and a smile as long as Ginny was there with him, arm hooked through his. That’s another reason the last couple of years had been hard for the family to adjust to this new Harry they only saw on extra special occasions, where he had no choice but to swallow the sadness and guilt of the lies they told to cover their break up and the baby, and show up, alone. He never brought anyone with him. Never spoke of his love or dating life. He turned up to their family events alone, feeling lonely as hell, and it was all for her. Because he still loved her so much, he never wanted her to think the door was ever closed...and at every turn, she slammed it closed in his face. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t know that.

Shite. She has to get out of here. 

And she has to stop thinking about Harry while she’s in the middle of this mess with Neville...

“You still love him don’t you?” Molly asks softly after a long moment of silence.

Ginny’s heart skips a beat again, her breath catching painfully in her chest. 

“It’s not exhaustion...it’s the worry,” Molly presses. “You’re worrying you’re marrying the wrong man...”

“I...I...” Ginny doesn’t want to do this, she doesn’t. But the way her mother is looking at her, her eyes full of concern over the way Ginny’s breathing has shallowed again, and not at all full of judgement, Ginny can’t find the fortitude to lie again. “I think Neville’s left me,” Ginny finally admits. 

Molly’s on her feet, tea placed back on the tray quickly, and at Ginny’s side with almost uncanny speed. This is the woman who loved her so fiercely she killed Bellatrix Lestrange to protect her...how could she ever think to keep the truth from her. The whole truth...

“Ginny?” 

Ginny clutches for Molly’s hands, her puffy eyes filling with tears again. Molly’s face colours with concern, her kind bright eyes comforting and warm. Once the words come out of her mouth they can’t go back, and Ginny briefly wonders why she’s cared about keeping any of it secret at all. What purpose does it serve to be lonely and secretive and duplicitous? What purpose it serves to be shameful about her miscarriage, about her affair. What purpose does it serve to keep on lying...

“I slept with Harry...I cheated on Neville...I lost our baby...” each step feels simultaneously like a weight lifting from her heavy shoulders, and almost heavy legs pulling her through the earthly floor. “I lied to you about everything...to everyone...”

Without want or need of explanation, without judgment or folly, Molly instinctively wraps her arms around her trembling daughter and holds her closely, fiercely tight, against her chest. 

# # #

Draco frowns, looking through the glass of Lestrange’s cell-like room, where the older dishevelled, long-haired and gaunt-looking wizard is carefully restrained and sleeping under a powerful draught Healers has administered after Draco and Harry had finished questioning him ten minutes ago. 

They’d stayed after the interview interested to observe Lestrange under the new stringent care measures the team had implemented after Saturday’s escape attempt. 

“something doesn’t add up,” Draco says with a heavy sigh, leaning heavily on the wall beside the window. “I know they’ve been keeping him sedated with a calming draught and that can rattle you a little, but he didn’t appear as unhinged in the interview as he wants us to believe. As Robards  _ lead _ us to believe…”

Harry think’s Draco’s hit the nail on the head with that one, Lestrange didn’t appear as unhinged as Robards had stated on Friday at all. 

“I’m not buying it either,” Harry admits. “His statement was too rehearsed. Almost word for word to the one Robards took when he first interviewed him at Azkaban before he was moved, and then again when he arrived. We both know stories change a little. Develop in the first couple of telling a before they solidify. This one was almost word perfect. I think he’s been coached from the outset.” 

Draco’s brow knits, and he folds his arms against his chest. He steps a bit closer to his Boss, lowering his voice a little so only Harry can hear. “I spoke to Hector this morning, one of the Hit-Wizards who was meant to be on duty on Saturday. He said Stubbs, his Unit Lead, told him on Friday night that Saturday shift was to end early. He said he queried the orders as surveillance on high profile cases in this ward is strictly 6 hours. Nothing more, nothing less. Stubbs said they were  _ Boss’ _ orders.” 

Harry frowns. “Well they weren’t my orders,” he bites sourly, both pissed off again for being kept out of the loop, and annoyed that protocol seems to have been broken when he’s worked damn hard to make sure The Auror Office is accountable and unshakeable.

Draco waggles his eyebrows. “No, they weren’t. But you're not the only Head in the department are you?”

Harry’s brow knits. “Draco…” he warns because they are currently standing in the hall of a wing at St Mungo’s and not in a private office or at their kitchen table, but Draco’s smile gets bigger. 

“I’m just saying, it’s yet  _ another _ question for Robards. That list is getting pretty long, don’t you think? We’ve got more questions than answers at this point.” 

Harry sighs heavily, rubbing a hand dejected through his beard. Draco has a point. 

Harry and Robards have generally seen eye to eye on things over the past four years they’d worked together as Department Head and Head Auror; he had even promoted Harry to Head Auror when Robards had climbed up the management ladder. But, their working relationship wasn’t without its nuances. Robards, while a good man, was part of the old guard of Aurors. He made it through the first and second wizarding wars with clean records and exemplary commendations. But, he’d also been Head Auror when The Ministry was full of corruption, and Harry had dedicated a significant amount of his energy and career to rectifying The Ministry’s shortcomings. It’s how he’d made Head Auror at 26. Harry trusted Robards like a mentor...but this whole investigation was frankly, odd. And his exclusion from the decision on moving Lestrange from Azkaban niggled at him almost at every turn.

Harry considers Draco’s insinuations and lowers his voice to a whisper.

“So you think Robards gave the Hit-Wizards the directive to change shifts early, and Lestrange knew about it? That they’ve worked this whole scheme up together to get Lestrange free? Why? Why send us on a wild goose chase about a mystery Riddle heir?” Harry’s voice is low and conspiratory and he kind of hates the way Draco’s eyes light up a little with the conspiracies. 

Harry thinks Lestrange knew, that he had help to try and escape, but he’s not ready to officially investigate Robards as that accomplice. Because how and why would Robards be tied to Lestrange after all these years? He’d helped put him in Azkaban. They needed to make the Voldertrix baby the focus of the investigation, and bide their time with Robards for now.

Draco studies Harry carefully, the information starting to make more sense as Harry pieces it together aloud, drafting plausible but damaging hypotheses on Robards’ involvement. Draco’s always had a better sense of the grey areas than Harry, who is idealistic and clear cut on what makes someone a good or bad person. Except maybe for Draco himself, Malfoy concedes.

Draco’s gaze returns to Lestrange, his hatred of his abusive and insane uncle swirling around his mind. Draco remembers vividly the time Lestrange had held him against the wall, Draco’s seventeen-year-old feet dangling in the air, Lestrange’s tight hand around his throat, and wand pressed to his chest tauntingly. Lestrange had caught Draco listening at the keyhole to his father’s study, and it had earned Draco a week of intermittent torture with the Cruciatus Curse under his uncle’s supervision. Even the Death Eaters were not immune to bullying and torture in their ranks to force compliance. 

“I don’t know,” Draco eventually replies, looking back to Harry. “But we need to figure this shite out before Lestrange is given another opportunity to escape. Plus, the way he fucking pretended to not recognise either of us pissed me off.” 

Harry grins. “Face it, it bruised your ego a little didn’t it?” 

Draco laughs. “Yeah, a little.” 

Further down the corridor, Cho appears on the ward for her shift. Harry wants to pick Cho’s brain off the record about this new development. Jackton has been in charge this morning and helpful in answering their questions about Lestrange, but Harry’s hoping Cho has additional insights. She gives them both a friendly wave from the ward matron’s desk and begins to check through her paperwork. 

“Did Andromeda have any insights?” Draco asks as Harry directs them towards Cho with a gesture towards the desk.

Harry shakes his head. “Nothing more than we already suspected really. She said we need to talk to Narcissa. She admittedly it was plausible but hadn’t been close to Bellatrix for thirty plus years. Any sisterly bond, as we know, was long gone before they’d even finished at Hogwarts.” 

“Families are fucking messy,” Draco sighs, and the irony is not lost on him that it’s his own family he’s talking about. He didn’t know Andromeda as an Aunt, or any member of his family. Yet she was practically family with Harry. 

“And what did she say about Ginny?” Draco asks, conciliatorily and Harry’s expression hardens, his brows knotting. 

“I didn’t tell her anything about Ginny and me.” 

Draco rolls his eyes at Harry’s briskness. “Well, you talked about something Ginny related, because you came home and locked yourself in your office all evening, pointedly  _ not _ watching Quidditch on your flatscreen with me. Kestrels thrashed the Bats by 300 points by the way. You owe me ten Galleons.” 

Harry frowns, he had indeed felt morose after his dinner with Andy and it was Ginny related, but not in the way Draco thought. Harry had said nothing of he and Ginny’s infidelity, but Andy had asked after the house in Godric’s Hollow, and what the plan was for it now with Ginny and Neville's imminent wedding— which Andy would be attending with Teddy who was getting a weekend home from Hogwarts. Harry had panicked and told her quickly that it was already on the market, and had been for some time. A lie he’d quickly sprung to, worried that not telling it, would mean he’d accidentally blurt out the truth about him and Ginny, which would be much much worse.

“We have to talk to Narcissa,” Harry repeats, changing the subject, and Draco sighs heavily but nods. 

He knew it was growing more important to speak to his mother if they were going to get any further information on the case, so he’d planned ahead this morning while Harry had been in meetings. “I checked with my mother’s assistant; we can see her tomorrow morning. Anna’s put it in your schedule. She’s living in a flat in Mayfair near Hyde Park.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise. “Your mother is living in the centre of London with Muggles? And has an Assistant?”

Draco rolls his eyes. “You're not the only one who is surprised. Listen I have to go,” Draco concedes, only a short distance now from Cho. “I was meant to be in Liverpool two hours ago doing Surveillance on the Rickards case. Lynch is going to be livid if I am not there by three.”

“Thanks, Draco, if Lynch has any questions, tell him my door is open.”

“I will don’t you worry. I think Alistair thinks I am sucking up to the Boss, trying to get a promotion or something.” Draco makes a face that shows his displeasure about being thought off as a kiss-arse. 

“Unless you’re me, third years don’t get their own squads,” Harry needles and Draco rolls his eyes. 

“We both know I have no desire to follow in your footsteps Potter, _ ”  _ Draco smiles teasingly as they step into earshot of Cho, who turns from her conversation at the desk to greet them. “Chang.” 

“Malfoy,” Cho says with a pleasant smile. “Harry.” 

“Hi,” Harry greets back. His smile doesn’t quite seem sincere enough though and Draco knows he’d hit a nerve by mentioning Ginny. 

“See you later,” Draco says, hands in pockets as he strolls out through the Hit-Wizard guarded entrance. 

“How did your interview go?” Cho asks kindly and Harry grimaces. 

“He’s pretty out of it,” he admits, flattening his hair absentmindedly, “we couldn’t get any sense out of him. Nothing past what we already know from the earlier statements.” 

Cho nods, and she and Harry walk a little back towards Lestrange’s room and the viewing window for some privacy. Cho peers through the window.

“He’s mildly sedated to keep him calm and mostly harmless. He’ll stay that way now. We can’t risk what happened on the weekend.” 

“How’s Healer Seaford?” 

Cho grimaces, tucking some hair behind her ear worriedly. “She’s been better,” she admits. “She asked for a transfer to another ward. I think it’s a record; 6 months into my Senior role and I’ve had one transfer request.” 

Harry offers her a kind smile, he knows that feeling. “For what it’s worth, what happened was not your fault.” 

Cho smiles appreciatively.

“Extra resources I see,” Harry says brightly, as two healers come through the MaxSec door, and Cho smiles again. 

“Yes, thank you for that. Two Healers per patient makes running the ward much smoother.” 

“Don’t thank me, it was Hermione. She’s got resources the rest of us could only dream of. I interrupted her holidays, but it was worth it.” 

“You do pretty well for yourself, Head Auror Potter,” Cho smiles. “Never thought I’d see the day Draco Malfoy of all people would follow you around calling you Boss. Did you make a deal with the devil?” She teases, and Harry laughs. 

“If I did, it wasn’t a good one,” he says with a grin. He lowers his voice for his next question. “Can I ask you something? Something off the record?” 

Cho considers him for a moment before she nods, pushing her glasses high up on her nose. 

“Okay,” she agrees. “What?” 

Harry watches Lestrange carefully through the window for a couple of moments before he turns back to Cho, who is waiting patiently, her eyes trained on Harry. 

“What do you think is really going on with Lestrange?”

Cho frowns, chewing at her lip for a moment, contemplating just how honest to be. She’d had a firm and strict conversation with Director Robards when Lestrange had arrived that had admittedly put a fair bit of fear into her on the importance of secrecy and discretion around Lestrange’s care. But it had never sat well with her.

“You said off the record right?”

Harry nods, he holds his palms up, showing full transparency. “No notes. No quote. Nothing in writing. In your professional and personal opinion, as someone who has observed Lestrange carefully over the past week, what’s your take?” 

Cho gives Harry a small, almost hesitant smile before she sighs deeply. She can trust Harry, she knows she can. 

“Harry, I don’t think Lestrange is mentally unstable or going through psychosis. I think he’s dangerous. And I think he has friends or allies in high places. He might not be free, but a comfortable bed in St Mungo’s in London is much easier to escape from than a prison on a rock in the middle of the North Sea. The moment he has a chance, he’ll try to escape again.” 

# # # 

Ginny wakes heavily, pulled from her sleep by the now incessantly painful pounding in her skull. She’s fully dressed in the clothes she’d arrived in, her body coiled around the flat old pillow from her childhood bed. The cup of tea has gone cold on the bedside table, her wand lying next to it. The bedroom door is still ajar, and she can hear the soft hum of the wireless downstairs, but the beautiful shimmery wedding dress is no longer hanging on the back of the door, it’s presence now hidden away. It’s a relief actually.

Ginny frowns and rolls over to her back, stretching out her aching and tired limbs. Her lower back feels tender, and her throwing shoulder aches from the hard training session. She needs a muscle tonic, and something for her head, and probably another safe protective hug from her Mum if she’s being honest. 

What a fucking mess. 

She still owes Molly a full explanation, she’s only managed her feebly worded confession earlier, before exhaustion and anxiety had taken her over. And Molly hadn’t pushed it. And Ginny was so grateful. 

After washing her face in the bathroom, soothing her blotchy and tear-streaked skin with cold water, Ginny heads for the kitchen barefoot, her long sleeves jumper pulled down over her still shaky hands, wand tucked into the back pocket of her jeans.

Molly looks up from the book she’d been reading at the kitchen table when Ginny enters, and the room smells of roast pork and veggies, and with a pang, she realises treacle tart (Harry’s favourite), even though Ginny knows she’s only been asleep a couple of hours. 

There are two small vials already laid out on the table, next to the fresh pot of now green tea, and Ginny smiles graciously at her mother. Headache powder and a muscle tonic.

“How are you feeling?” Molly asks gently, folding the cover of her book closed. 

Ginny slides into the seat nearest to her and grimaces. “Still a little peaky,” Ginny admits. 

She reaches for the vials, measures out her doses, receiving a not unexpected tut from her mother and Ginny doubles the required dose of her muscle tonic with a cheeky smile before she gulps down the remedies with a couple of mouthfuls of warm green tea. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything more if you’re not up to it.”

“I want to,” Ginny says softly. “I just...it’s not easy to talk about.”

“I know,” Molly says gently, her voice trembling a little. “Especially...losing a child.”

Ginny swallows thickly, fighting back more tears, and Molly takes her hand, entwining her shorter thicker fingers between her daughters long slender, calloused ones. Ginny swallows another couple of mouthfuls of tea before she begins to talk. 

“Harry and I...it wasn’t a mutual breakup, the relationship had run its course type thing. We didn’t stop loving each other. We lost a baby…” 

Ginny's voice breaks and Molly squeezes her fingers again, tears now falling from her own eyes. “I was waiting to tell you all at Christmas, we only had two weeks to go until I could surprise you all the news, but then the night before Ron was injured in that raid...I...I...miscarried. I mean it had happened a couple of days before, I’d had this horrible back pain and thought I’d been overdoing it at training but...I found out that night. I started to bleed and Harry and I panicked, but when we got to the hospital...there had been nothing we could do. He was sixteen weeks along and his little heart had stopped. Mum, we’d planned to call him Fred.”

Molly's free hand covers her mouth with a gasp, a torrent of tears freely flowing down her face. 

# # #

The Monday afternoon sun is warm on the back of Harry’s neck, despite the cool breeze blowing across the graveyard, sending loose leaves from the trees cascading to the wintery earth. Harry’s hands are secured in his jacket pockets, his leather Ministry issued boots crunching the gravel beneath his feet as he walks purposely up the path from the gates towards the Potter family plot. It’s late November and Harry’s second visit to Godric’s Hollow in the last month. 

He hadn’t intended to visit today, but he needed some air and a place to think about not just the new developments in the case that were fastly bringing Robards into question, but the weekend and the mess he’d made with Ginny. 

The flowers from his last visit are still fresh and everlasting, but he conjures another fresh bunch for his mother, settling on white lilies, as he always does. 

“Hi Mum,” he says fondly, crouching to clean some detritus away with his hand, before laying the lilies down gently and patting the cold stone. “Hey, Dad. It’s a bit sunnier today, unlike my last visit.” Harry’s eyes scout the headstone beside them, his eyes sadly tracing the smaller, more discrete and newer headstone beside theirs, the initials F J P carved in the stone. Harry grimaces a little, his face not quite able to reach the level of cheerfulness he wants to portray. 

“Hey mate. Your Mum sends her love. I don’t know if she’s been by to visit you lately...I think maybe it’s too hard for her here.” Harry clears his throat. “But I know she misses you dearly. And I hope grandpa, and your uncles aren’t getting you into too much trouble up there…” 

Harry gets to his feet, sucking in a deep breath. “I saw your Mum at the weekend. First time I’ve seen her in weeks. She ah….” Harry searches for the words, his hands absentmindedly flattening his hair. “...she’s getting married on Saturday. I mean, I figure you already know and all...but, I wanted to tell you myself. Let you know that while we both miss you, we’re doing okay. We’re...um...moving on.” Harry frowns. “Your Mum, she deserves to be happy...to find happiness...even if it isn’t with me.” 

The air swirls some leaves around Harry’s feet, and he smiles a little, the petals on the bunch of lilies fluttering. 

Harry’s not sure after all that’s happened over the years, even his walk with death all those years ago if he believes there is an afterlife. But when he visits the cemetery, he likes to imagine that they — his parents, Dumbledore, Fred, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Moody, Hedwig, Baby Fred...even Ginny’s uncles who died long before she was born—are all in the same spot, in a big house in the country, all together, happy and peaceful and waiting patiently for everyone to join them in their own time. 

In his mind, it’s like one of those beautiful big parties they used to have at The Burrow in the summers after the war when their trauma had begun to heal, with lots of laughter and a lovely dinner and endless sunshine. And maybe there is Quidditch and dancing and for sure Dumbledore makes them all sing the Hogwarts song just for old times sake, sucking on Sherbert Lemons as he giddily leads their purposely off-key voices. And Fred Weasley adds some dirty lyrics to the ditty that makes Sirius roar with laughter and clap him on the back as they sway happily with goblets of fire whiskey sloshing in their hands...

“Harry?” 

Harry startles his hand reaching instinctively for his holster and wand...but he breathes a sigh of relief when he realises it’s Hermione, one palm held toward him as she approaches cautiously, her other arm wound around a bunch of yellow flowers. Her long ponytail flutters in the breeze and she gives him a soft smile that says she’s glad to see him. They’d only seen each other quickly in passing today, both caught up in the business of Monday meetings and briefings. He had a lot to talk to her about.

“Hi,” Harry says, digging his hands into his pant pockets. “Sorry. Was off in my own little world,” he grimaces. “I didn’t hear you.” 

Hermione nods, understanding completely, and steps closer to place the yellow flowers on James’ grave. Her palms graze the rock tenderly and then she steps back to stand beside Harry, brushing shoulders with him and smiling. She smiles because she sees how annoyed it makes him when he misses obvious things like he feels guilty for not being Harry the Auror 150% of the time. 

“I haven’t been here in a while,” Hermione admits. “Not since March I don’t think.”

Harry smiles. “I appreciate you coming to see them. It means a lot.”

Hermione links her arm through Harry’s, pressing her cheek to his shoulder, which he is admittedly grateful for. “I think I was here with Ginny. We left flowers for your Dad’s birthday.”

Harry swallows the hard lump in his throat. “You did? Thank you.”

Hermione lifts her head from Harry’s shoulder, assessing him carefully through curious eyes. 

“Are you okay? I know Saturday afternoon was awkward,” Harry had floo’d for Hermione to sign off on an urgent budget request for extra resources at St Mungo’s, and they’d been talking when Ginny had walked into the kitchen, which had led to a quick getaway on Harry’s behalf. Hermione had tried to get in touch with him yesterday after Ginny had left but Harry had been out at Andromeda's, and this morning had been crazy busy with catchup meetings and briefings before Hermione had left for Ginny’s dress fitting.

Harry grimaces. “I’ve been better,” he admits and she sighs, patting him on the arm comfortingly. 

“You’ve been worse too,” she says humbly, and Harry laughs, the sound carrying across the graveyard, as he folds his arms against his chest. He’d said the same thing to Draco a couple of days ago.

“That’s true, I have been,” he agrees. 

“Anna gave me your message. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“It’s something sensitive…” Harry begins, trying to figure out the best way to broach the conundrum with Robards. 

Hermione raises an index finger to cut him off and gives him an almost sympathetic smile. It had taken Ginny almost an hour to get through the story of Friday night. Hermione didn’t want to see Harry go through that same torture of explanation, worried about judgement. “Ginny told me what happened.”

Harry blinks, his shoulders tensing a little. He’d had no intention of divulging his night with Ginny to Hermione. He feels his pulse quicken but doesn’t allow his face to reflect anything but neutrality. “I was actually talking about a new investigation.”

Hermione’s breath catches in her throat at her mistake. Harry breaks eye contact with her, his gaze dropping back to his parent’s headstone, his face stony, locked behind his Harry Potter Head Auror faćade.

“Oh.” 

It takes a couple of moments for the topic to set in, and the Harry frowns, and finally looks up again. “She did?” 

The only clue to his nervousness of what Ginny might have said is the way he holds his jaw, set tightly like he’s not sure he can trust his response like it’s taking significant effort to hold his tongue.

Hermione nods and her brow knits with worry. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry shakes his head. 

Hermione gives him a look that says he’s being annoying obtuse and he sighs. 

“I’m fine Hermione,  _ really _ .”

Fine was complete bollocks. They both know it. 

“Okay,” Hermione says curiously. “What’s the investigation, then?”

She’s leaving the door open for them to talk more about Ginny, but Harry looks pretty determined to ignore it. Maybe he just needs time. 

“Voldermort and the possibility that he fathered a daughter before the Battle of Hogwarts.” 

Hermione frowns at his cavalier tone. “Harry...don’t joke…”

“I wish I was,” Harry admits. “But that’s not all, Rodolphus Lestrange has been moved to MaxSec at St Mungo’s. We’re investigating the rumours based on the intel he’s provided,” Harry tells her and Hermione purses her lips, making a seriously grim face at her very good friend. 

“You moved Lestrange from Azkaban to St Mungo’s. Are  _ you _ insane?”

Harry’s mouth twitches, and she swears that he’s suppressing a smile. “No. I didn’t. Robards did.”

“Why? He’s dangerous,” Hermione protests. “He’s in prison  _ because _ of Robards.” 

“Well, now he’s in a significantly less secure location undergoing psych evaluation  _ because _ of Robards. Lestrange believes it is 1998 and he’s worried about the safety of Voldermort and Bellatrix's child.”

“Fuck…” Hermione breathes, and then her face falls because Harry’s grinning about Hermione’s standing at his parent’s graves cursing loudly in such an un-Hermione like way. “Sorry,” she says with a wince, it’s been quite the day, and then takes a deep breath, her analytical mind slipping into gear. “What do you have so far?”

“A possible timeline and a list of possible witnesses to interview. Draco and I interviewed Lestrange today, but we haven’t gained anything further. Draco’s organised to interview Narcissa Malfoy tomorrow. I have a copy of the files for you in my office if you want to take a look.” 

She nods, she always wants to see the paperwork. “Robard hinted that he wanted to talk to me about something sensitive today, but I’ve been caught up with Minister’s office meetings…”

“That’s not all,” Harry says. “Lestrange also tried to escape from St Mungo’s on Saturday. And he would have succeeded too if Cho hadn’t intervened. The two Hit-Wizards who were on duty left their station for an early shift change, leaving the ward unguarded. Lestrange overpowered a Healer and knocked her out, but Cho stupefied him before he had a chance to leave the room.”

“What did Robards say about the escape attempt?”

Harry gives her a bit of a lopsided smile, and Hermione knows there is more bad news to come. “I haven’t told him...yet. I need your help on something before I loop him in…

  
“You want to move Lestrange back to Azkaban without Robards knowing don’t you?” 

And this is why Harry loves working with her. She always knows his next move. It was like working with Ron again, but less swearing and ultimately more diplomatic outcomes. Ron was brilliant. Hermione was a genius.

“Hermione, I have a lot of questions for Robards, and his involvement in this is looking very suspicious. It took him five days to tell me Lestrange had been moved. And then after he does, the next day Lestrange tries to escape when despite protocol two Hit Wizards are told to leave their shift early? I just want to make sure that Lestrange is secured as soon as possible.”

“Harry, you know as well as I do to get him moved back to Azkaban, you have to prove he no longer needs care…”

“Or that he shouldn’t have been in there the first place,” Harry counters. “I’ve spoken to Cho, and it’s off the record, but in her professional opinion is that the psychosis Lestrange is meant to be suffering from isn’t real…”

“Has his mind been tampered with?” Hermione asks softly, and Harry knows it’s an idea that hits home for her. It had taken her parents a little bit of time to get their full memories back after Hermione had brought them home to England after the war. 

Harry shakes his head. “No evidence of spell damage or memory tampering. No evidence that his facilities have been inhibited at all. It’s just Lestrange’s word right now...and it's a well-rehearsed story.”

Hermione sighs heavily, taking a moment to weigh up all the information Harry’s presented. Harry doesn’t mind and rearranges the two small bunches of everlasting flowers on Baby Fred’s headstone. 

“You think Gawain’s involved somehow don’t you?” 

Harry frowns, and then answers with a reluctant nod. “I don’t have any proof right now, but I think somehow, for some reason, he’s found himself caught up in this. I think he hoped that I’d be so caught up in the details about Voldermort, and the fact that it’s a case about a child, to notice much else.”

“I think he underestimates how much you hate your mentors making decisions about the information you should and shouldn’t know on your behalf,” Hermione remarks, making Harry chuckle. 

“You’d think he would have figured it out by now,” Harry agrees, but this time Hermione smiles. 

“Well, Dumbledore never really did. I guess Robards doesn’t have much hope in comparison.” 

Harry smiles. “So you’ll help me get Lestrange back to Azkaban then? Help find a loophole in the transfer requirements…” he asks a little too cavalierly, and it annoys Hermione immensely because she would never agree to find a loophole as such...but she’s already got an idea that’ll mitigate the whole Azkaban vs. St Mungo’s debate...

Hermione sighs heavily. “Fine, I’ll help…”

Harry grins, and Hermione waggles a finger at him. “But, it won’t be a loophole. It’ll be all above board. If you suspect at all the Robards has some ulterior motive in this, we have to be as transparent and lawful as possible.”

Harry agrees with a nod. “I agree, one hundred per cent. Thank you, Hermione.”

“Harry, be careful with Gawain. You're not indestructible. I’m not even sure you should be investigating this. Gawain’s put us in a compromising position when we’re currently reviewing the whole Azkaban system and I can’t help but think he’s hoping if it goes south, taking you — and given I’m heading up the reform committee, probably me too—down with him is his safety net. Now,” Hermione says with a deep sigh, “are you going to fill me in on why we had to meet here?” 

Harry’s smile falters a little and he digs his hands into the pockets of his pants. He’s nervous and embarrassed and Hermione’s not sure the last time she’s seen him with such little confidence in himself.

“I asked you to meet me here because I’m putting the house up for sale...tonight. And I needed someone to meet the realtor with me so I don’t change my mind... _ again _ ...”

“Harry…” Hermione starts apprehensively because...wow...this is a big move. 

Harry grimaces, knowing already how to answer her unsaid question. “It’s time Hermione. It's long past time, we both know it. I told Ginny it sold last year and bought out her share of it’s worth. But it’s been empty for so long; It seems foolish to hold onto it any longer. Ginny and I have no future together, it’s time for both of us to move on.” Harry sighs heavily as he casts his eyes around the graveyard and the many generations of his relatives. 

He loved London, he and Ginny both did, but they’d also fantasised about raising their kids here. Despite its painful history, Godric’s Hollow was beautiful and held a special place in their hearts. The fact his parents died here no longer made him sad, but determined to live his own happy and fulfilling life to honour them. But that dream just seems like a distant memory now.

Hermione wants to tell him everything she knows about Ginny’s thoughts, motivations and feelings because she has the distinct impression that Ginny’s been less than honest with Harry, keeping him at bay with hurtful words...but it isn’t her place. And the reality is, the information can’t come from Hermione. It has to come from Ginny. Ginny has to be the one to tell him the truth. It’s painful to know her two best friends are still so in love and should be building a future together but they just can’t get on the same damn page. 

“Do you regret what happened on Friday night?” Hermione asks softly.

Harry frowns, kicking at the ground and then shakes his head. “I miss her so damn much. I haven’t been that happy in....” he clears his throat, eyes falling on baby Fred’s headstone. Since he found out he was going to be a Dad. “... _ years _ .” 

Hermione slides her hand into Harry’s and squeezes his fingers through hers. “You still love her more than anything else in this entire world don’t you?” She asks with a smile, and he nods. 

“More than anything,” he admits. “But I have to let it go, Hermione. I have to let Ginny go or it’s going to eat up my entire life. I need to sell the house if I’m ever going to make a move to a future without her.” 

Hermione squeezes his hand again and then musters a smile. “Okay. Let’s go see the house again, one last time.” 

Harry nods, actually grateful for her company. While they haven’t been estranged, Hermione’s spent a lot of time playing sister-in-law to Ginny over the past few months, which has left her best friend status with Harry a little unloved, despite them working together. “Thank you,” he breathes. 

Harry briefly touches the headstones again tenderly, saying his goodbyes. 

“I’ll see you guys later, yeah? I love you,” he tells them, before shoving his hands in his jacket pocket and setting off towards the town with Hermione by his side.

_ Time’s up Potter _ , he tells himself.  _ Time to move on. _

# # #

_ “I love it!” Ginny says grandly, twirling in awe in the large light-filled open plan kitchen and dining area, her hands on her stomach. She’d only found out a week ago about the baby, but she’d never been happier.  _

_ Harry had been telling her about this house for weeks and she was glad for her day off the pitch to make it to the viewing time Harry had booked.  _

_ Harry chuckles from his position leaning nonchalantly against the kitchen island, his arms crossed cockily against his chest. _

_ “I knew you would,” he says with a grin, happy that she loves this place as much as him.  _

_ He watched it being built over the past few months, checking its progress each time he visited his parent’s grave. To his delight a fortnight ago a For Sale sign had gone up. They’d been trying for a baby for a few months, and he knew that he had to have this house for their expanding family. _

_ Ginny turns towards him, her long red hair falling in waves over one shoulder, and a brilliantly bright smile on her face.  _

_ “Big open kitchen, skylights, a great spot for you and the baby to heckle me from while I cook and you drink ‘mum juice’...” he continues with a smile.  _

_ Ginny laughs. “Big backyard for Quidditch too…” she adds, pointing out the large french doors leading out to a giant private backyard surrounded by large trees.  _

_ It’s like this house was made for them. _

_ He knows it catches Ginny’s eye because she winks at him and heads for the doors, sighing wistfully at the beautiful view.  _

_ “Space for even more babies…” she adds cheekily, and he nods, beaming.  _

_ “Fence for a dog…” says Harry, reminding her of their pact. Once they move out of the city, they could get a dog.  _

_ Ginny turns back to him grinning broadly, her eyes twinkling. “You’ve thought of all the things, Potter. I love it. Put in an offer.” _

_ Harry grins, stepping towards her. “I already did,” he tells her in a scandalous whisper.  _

_ Ginny’s breath catches. “And?” she breathes.  _

_ Harry winks at her. “It’s ours…” he says, but he doesn’t get another word out as she’s thrown herself into his arms, kissing him deeply. He holds her tightly, trying to steady them as his girl is a complete whirlwind when she wants to be, and he laughs as she smothers him with kisses. _

_ “Harry James Potter, who’d have thought we’d grown up into serious adults who raise children, live in the country and grow vegetables!” Ginny awes, thoroughly loving the sound of the life she’s just built in one sentence. Then she crinkles her nose a little and sighs in playful dramatics. “Oh, Merlin! We’re becoming my parents!”  _

_ “Seven is too many children,” he tells her with more seriousness and Ginny groans and rolls her eyes.  _

_ “I know Potter, I know. Three should do us. A boy, a girl, and a third delightfully little Potter in case we ruin one of the others with our delightfully bad spoiling,” she teases with a wink. “Mum says our kids are doomed with the way we throw money around.”  _

_ Harry laughs heartily. “Charming, Weasley. You’ll make Mother Of The Year.”  _

_ Ginny laughs, kissing him softly again. “As long as I have you and our family, I couldn’t care less.”  _

# # #

It takes hours to explain everything to Molly but Ginny does, finally confiding everything in her mother for the first time. Molly asks only a few questions, but holds her hand so tightly, Ginny feels almost at a loss by the time she has to let go, like Molly’s comfort is everything she’d been missing in the two years since this whole mess had begun to unravel. Hermione had been amazing, but the relief of bonding with her mother, over the loss of a son, was something Ginny would never wish upon even her worst enemy...but something she also simultaneously needed probably more than anything else.

Molly implores Ginny to stay the night, and every night hence, until the mess is cleared up with Neville, but Ginny feels like she’s better suited to being at home and waiting for Neville there. Besides, she resigns, he probably won’t think to look for her at The Burrow if she’s not at home, maybe assuming to find Ginny instead at Grimmauld Place, and she’s not comfortable with that assumption projected on Neville or not. 

And so Ginny with a heavy heart but significantly comforted and less weighted down by her past, returns to the two-bedroom cottage in Slough she shares with Neville, packs her kit bag for the following day of pre-match training, and climbs into bed, lying in the dark, her thoughts consumed by Harry, Neville and Baby Fred.

Ginny hears Neville arrive home shortly before ten pm, his quiet footsteps moving around in the hall before he appears in the doorway of their bedroom. She’s curled up on her side of the bed, and shifts a little, indicating she’s awake in the dark. A greeting burns in her throat, but she holds her tongue, nervous to be the first to speak. 

Neville silently strips off his clothes, leaving himself in boxers and a shirt and climbs into bed beside her. Ginny doesn't dare move, and Neville rolls over to look at her. 

“This is over, Gin, and I want you to leave,” he says softly, but the power behind them is deafening. 

Ginny sits up slowly, grappling with his words. Arguments of protest flood her brain but she pushes them away because deep down, she feels….relief. She loves the man lying beside her, telling her their relationship was over...but she’s completely and ashamedly _relieved_. 

Swiping tears off her cheek, Ginny pushes back the covers of their bed and climbs out taking her wand from the bedside table. She reaches for the jumper and jeans she’s worn earlier, neatly folded on the reading chair by the bed, and pulls them on over her camisole and boyleg briefs. Her kitbag is packed in the cupboard so she gathers it, quickly taking a couple of changes of clothes and underwear for the next few days. She doesn’t have the heart to go through the whole packing everything she owns rigmarole while he watches. She then takes her thermal jacket and trainers out, pulling them on too. Her hair is swept up in a messy bun but she has no time to pick through her things in the bathroom. Her toiletries can wait. She’s just got to go. 

Neville sits up, his back resting against the bed head, arms folded stoically against his chest. “The funeral is on Friday. I’ll be in Sheffield. You or Ron can come and get the rest of your stuff then.” 

His voice is devoid of any real emotion and for a tiny moment, she feels a rush of sadness for what she knows will now be the end of her long friendship with Neville. He’d been one of closest friends for over a decade...the strength of their friendship had been the basis of their relationship...but Ginny had now broken his heart. 

She could see it, the hurt in his eyes. She’d see the same look in his eyes years ago...when he’d explained over a large pint of Butterbeer at the Leaky Cauldron, that Hannah Abbott, his fiancé, his girlfriend of seven years, had left him. She’d wanted children, many of them, a direct contrast to the only child upbringing her and Neville had, but after two years of trying, she and Neville had discovered that he was never going to father children. 

And what had been the catalyst to the end of Hannah and Neville’s relationship...had been the very thing Neville and Ginny had bonded over, pushing their friendship into a relationship. Neville couldn’t have children. And Ginny was sure after the painful loss of Baby Fred, that she could never bring herself to wish for children again. 

Ginny nods. “Okay,” she acquiesces.

She fumbles for her clutch, the one she’d had from the weekend and digs within the pocket, looking for the diamond ring he’d given her only a few weeks ago and places it on the bedside table. She didn’t wear it when she played so it felt natural enough to have not had it on for the past couple of days...if it hadn’t been a conscious decision after the way Neville had left yesterday. She places it down gingerly on the dresser, the metal making a scraping sound against the wood.

Neville tiredly rubs his face, his guilt now bubbling over. “Gin, I never would have done this to you. You can’t just say sorry and make me the bad guy for not wanting to forgive you. You fucked this up.”

“I know,” Ginny replies earnestly, strapping her kitbag over her shoulder, her voice soft and sad. “I understand Neville, I do.” And with tears running freely down her cheeks, Ginny leaves.

# # # 

Ginny sighs heavily, her heart in her throat as she swallows down her tears. She's standing on a doorstep crying, and it’s the second time in three days. What a fucking mess. A complete fucking nightmare. She’s taken a fucking Fiendfyre to her entire life and sent it up in flames.

And...Ginny feels so fucking relieved. She could have lied to Neville or kept the truth from him. Maybe she should have, but she didn’t. It felt good to not have to lie to him or Molly any longer. She’d been lying for so long. Too long. Lying to everyone, even herself, about big things, and small things. She felt relieved by the messy honesty of it all. It hurt like hell, but for the first time, in a long time, she could feel that pain without the guilt of a lie hanging over her head, and that was freeing. 

That’s also why she finds herself here, on the doorstep to 12 Grimmauld Place a little before midnight. The lights are on the higher levels, signifying whoever is home, Harry or Draco, or both, are still awake. 

Ginny wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket and with a deep shaky breath, raises her closed fist to knock. She hesitates, knowing that this is probably the worst place to come, but it’s also the only place she wants to be. The only place she can just be her messy broken self, because the man on the other side of this door, knows everything, has shared everything with her and loves her anyway. With another deep fortifying breath, Ginny knocks loudly on the old door. 


	5. Quiet when I’m coming home and I'm on my own …

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny and Harry make a plan. Hermione and Harry make a plan. And the press get a tipoff no one is ready to face.

**5: QUIET WHEN I’M COMING HOME AND I'M ON MY OWN…**

M O N D A Y.

There is silence behind the door at Number 12, as a Ginny nervously shifts her weight from foot to foot. She waits for sixty excruciating seconds that drag through the night like a lifetime, and then eventually, the heavy door is pulled open, revealing Draco standing in the doorway. He is still dressed in his expensive suit trousers, waistcoat and shirt, blond hair cut short and slicked back, not a hair out of place despite the late hour. 

“Ginny?” He asks in mild surprise.

An age has passed since the last time they’d faced each other like this, their roles reversed, Draco standing on the doorstep, thoroughly wrung out and looking for Harry’s help, and Ginny answering the door in a pair of worn, comfy, hand me down flannelette pyjamas of maroon and purple plaid. The memory passes between them silently before Ginny quickly clears her throat, pushing down the lump of emotions that had been tugging at her tumultuously all day.

“Draco...um, hi... is Harry in?” She croaks, and there is very little chance he hadn’t heard her disappointment at seeing him instead of Harry.

Draco frowns, not unkindly, and shakes his head. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows despite the cold outside and his eyes are tired like it’s been a long busy day. 

“No, he’s working late on a case.” 

“Okay,” Ginny replies suddenly at a loss, her eyes darting nervously away from Draco’s. Mortified, she realises she’s going to have to go back to The Burrow, or Ron and Hermione’s… or at worst case a muggle hotel? Does she even have any muggle money on her?...she certainly can’t go to The Leaky Cauldron or there will be a scandal in the papers by lunchtime...she doesn’t need a scandal right now to add to everything pulling at her already frayed edges...

“Ginny, do you want to come in?” Draco asks, kindly gesturing to the brightly lit hallway behind him. 

It’s a lifeline Ginny is grateful for. Someone deciding for her.

“Do you mind?” 

“Of course not,” he says humbly, stepping aside to let her in. After she’s across the threshold, standing awkwardly in the warm hallway of the house she used to call home, he pulls his wand and locks the door, giving her a small, but sort of comforting smile. Granted, it’s a bit strange, being shown into a house that she used to live in, that she helped repaint and decorate by a man who up until five years ago she never would have trusted in a million years. Draco gestures for her holdall, and with a look of polite surprise, Ginny gives him the handle. 

“Thanks,” she says, as he carefully slides it under the hallway table near the door adorned with a houseplant she hadn’t noticed the last time she was here. 

“Right, Firewhisky?” Draco asks brightly, clapping his hands together with a smile. “I would offer you tea but I think you could use something stronger.”

“Yes, please,” Ginny chuckles nervously, and Draco gestures to the kitchen doorway indicating that he’ll follow her. 

She leads them down the short stairs to the basement kitchen, relishing in the warmth of the stoked fireplace by the far wall. The Kitchen is clean and tiny, aside from folders and piles of sorted ministry papers strewn about the long dining table. It’s not an unfamiliar sight, but Draco clears then with a wave of his wand, the piles stacking themselves nearly into the folder before they disappear. Draco conjures the whisky decanter from the liquor cabinet and two squat crystal glasses, before politely gesturing for Ginny to sit across from him.

“I guess you're wondering why I’m here,” she says nervously, pulling off her jacket and sliding into a chair. 

Draco watches the dark amber liquid pour smoothly from the decanter to the glass, his expression largely impassive.

“No, not really,” he tells her. “I know why you're here.” He looks up at her kindly as he hands her a glass. “Leaving someone — your choice or not — is damn hard.” 

It’s a loaded sentence; full of his shit relationship history. Pansy. Freya. Ophelia. Daisy. Tamara. All witches he’d dated and ruined both good and bad relationships with over the years, some ending in him being kicked out, or walking out of homes he’d shared or frequented, never to return. His relationship with Astoria was different from all that, and he’d been changed because of it.

They hadn’t defined anything between them, both probably a bit too stubborn to admit that it was more than sleepovers or quick meals at The Leaky Cauldron between surveillance shifts or Daily Prophet print deadlines. Draco never considered himself the marrying kind...not after the horrid marriage of obligation, fear and money he’d been conceived in...but he could maybe see something of a future with Astoria, maybe even a child together, much further down the track. 

Draco had surmised upon seeing Ginny on the doorstep that the tears, the holdall, the late hour and the lack of engagement ring all indicated a sudden change in marital status. 

Ginny exhales an unexpected but soft whimper; a sound that is completely mortifying to have escaped from her lips in present company. She blushes furiously and takes the glass, downing the shot of liquid in one gulp. It burns her raw and dry throat, and she winces as she swallows and sputters a little. 

“Sorry,” she apologises with embarrassment wiping at her mouth self-consciously, and Draco, still holding the decanter merely shrugs, like she’s done nothing to surprise him at all. 

“Another?” He asks, shaking the decanter, indicating he’ll refill it if she requests it. 

But Ginny doesn’t and places the glass down in front of her. 

“No, I’m fine, thanks.” 

Draco nods, and slides into the seat across from her, his long day pulling his posture into a relaxed hunch over the ancient wood table, his elbows resting on the dark wood. He sips at his drink, and Ginny wonders how Draco fairs in The Auror Office in sartorial choices like dark teal suits and robes, amongst the sea of black, grey and navy of his colleagues. 

While Harry’s closet contained a lot of expensive muggle suits, clothing and brands he was familiar with and liked, Draco’s dress sense was more stylishly wizard, tailored suits with matching robes of green, teal, emerald, charcoal and black, all hallmarks and hints of his Slytherin identity he’d continued to embrace long after Hogwarts. 

Draco’s voice is low and calm, his gaze patient and authoritative when he asks, “So, did you leave Longbottom or—?” 

“Neville broke up with me,” Ginny divulges honestly, and the puzzled look on her face as she replies says she hasn’t expected Draco to be so direct with her, or her so direct with him.

“And you have nowhere to go?” 

Ginny eyes Draco carefully, and she suspects from his calm, no-nonsense tone, maybe he’s become a better friend to Harry than she knew. And that he knew some of her secrets too. 

“I have places to go,” she replies softly, holding his gaze, “but I wanted to see Harry.” 

Draco holds her gaze for a long while, before he nods, and sips again at his whisky. 

The silence between them is punctuated by the flames in the fireplace crackling loudly with the telltale incoming floo connection, and the flames turn yellow-green for a moment before Harry appears spinning out of the fireplace, dusting soot from his Navy suit, his Auror ID around his neck, hair dishevelled and messy as usual. He stops only a couple of feet out of the fireplace hearth, his eyebrows twitching in surprise to see Draco and Ginny sitting at the far end of the table together, on opposite sides. 

Draco he’d expected; Ginny not so much. He ruefully figures spending his afternoon trying to punctuate his and Ginny’s relationship with a final full stop, would, of course, conjure her presence here, and it’s a combination of annoying and painful Harry’s not ready to face. 

“Hi,” Ginny says with a small self-conscious wave, Harry’s furrowed brow making her feel intensely worried about his reaction to her being here. She admittedly hadn’t been kind the last time she’d seen him, and she probably should have thought this through a bit better than just springing an unprompted late-night visit on him. 

Harry’s reply lacks any real emotion as he forces out a stilted, “Hi.”

Draco, mildly intrigued, clears his throat and gets to his feet, draining his glass. His actions go mostly unnoticed to Harry and Ginny, who have made fierce eye contact, and predictably now the rest of the room doesn’t exist, an obvious sign for Draco to make himself scarce.

“I’ll give you both some privacy,” Draco says and quickly removes himself from the room. 

He is by the stairs when Ginny turns. 

“Draco...thank you,” she says lifting the empty glass. 

Draco grins and shrugs. “Don’t thank me, he paid for it,” he says nodding to Harry, who tries hard to not roll his eyes. 

Draco leaves, his footfalls carrying through the hallway and up the long staircase for a couple of minutes, before his bedroom door on the forth landing closes loud enough to signal he’s gone. 

In that time Harry steps further into the room, replaces the decanter to the cabinet and Draco’s glass in the sink by hand without magic, his body moving while he thinks. He’s trying to reconcile the weekend and his chat with Hermione this afternoon and the blistering obviousness that for all rhyme and reason Ginny’s back again, no doubt about to blow up the carefully constructed and tormented peace Harry had managed to create since Saturday.

It is an infuriating mix of arousal and anger having her back here, and he belligerently tries to taper his impulse to cross the few small steps between them, pull her into his arms and kiss her. He'd be a fucking masochist to let her back in like that, even if the option presented itself, which he’s not sure it had, she might be here in his kitchen, but it could mean anything...and why does he think that her being here would automatically lead to anything else but another fight between them? What the fuck is wrong with him? 

_You love her, you bloody wanker,_ his conscience supplies, really unhelpfully, and Harry frowns at himself as he turns towards Ginny, leaning against the kitchen counter, as he tries as nonchalantly as possible to fold his arms against his chest. 

“Why are you here, Gin?” He asks wearily, scratching one hand through his beard.

Ginny recalls what it was like to feel that stubble against her skin, the soft crook of her neck, the sensitive flesh of her breasts and inner thighs…he’d never grown it longer than a couple of days of stubble in the ten years they were together because she’d always said how she’d like him clean shaven...but this look made him even more formidable, more powerful, more _Harryish_ than he’d ever been. And this time that thought was so unexpectedly humbling, that her sad drumbeat of a heart skipped a little with the realisation that for the first time, in a long time, she could look at him, admire him, feel things for him, without feeling guilty. 

“I told Neville about us...and he broke up with me. The engagement is over,” Ginny says, her voice a little hoarse from the alcohol and emotionally fraught day, but she holds his gaze carefully. “He asked me to leave….and…” Ginny pauses, forcing the words out now, given how fresh and raw they are, “...I came here.”

Harry takes a moment, a long moment to gather the words for his reply. He drops his arms from his chest and rests them on the edge like he’s trying to keep them busy and far away from her as he sighs deeply and tiredly. 

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, and immediately regrets that it is his first question. Of course, he wants to know...he just needs to be careful about what he’s willing to give up right now.

Ginny frowns, looking down at the glass in her hand for a moment, trying to muster a real response. She’s fighting two urges...tell Harry what he wants to hear, and tell Harry the uncomfortable and unflattering truth. She has to be honest. But she’s spent so bloody long surviving it’s hard to turn off the facade.

Finally, the truth wins.

“Yes,” she says softly, meeting his eye. “I’d be lying to myself and you if I said I wasn’t relieved that he ended it…”

Harry sighs heavily, the loudness cutting Ginny off. 

“I just…” Harry bites and then swallows his frustration with an annoyed growl. “How can you say that Gin when two days ago you told me that’s what you wanted? You _wanted_ to marry Neville. You said you loved him. And now you’re relieved it’s over? Ginny, what the fuck are you doing…?”

“I lied,” she admits earnestly cutting him off, by talking over the top of him. Harry falters as her words register, his anger burning so hotly, he’s painfully biting the inside of his cheek to keep his mouth closed. 

Ginny’s honesty bubbles over.

“Waking up in your bed scared me so bloody much, Harry. I panicked; It was too much. The way you love me isn’t fair...it’s so unconditional. Like nothing else matters...and it makes me feel guilty because I want it so bloody much...but I don’t deserve it…not after the long list of things I’ve done to not only you but Neville...”

“No, you don’t deserve it, Ginny,” Harry snaps angrily, temper finally flaring. “Not when you play these bloody stupid games. You can’t love both of us. It’s complete bollocks Gin, I know it, you know it, and Neville knows it…” Harry growls, annoyed with himself for losing his cool so quickly, and he turns in frustration leaning heavily on the counter and blowing out exasperated breaths, facing away from her while he tries to calm down. 

Behind him, Ginny uses the sleeve of her jumper to wipe at her wet cheeks, but she refuses to outright cry. This is too important to ruin her honesty by making him feel sorry for her. These are tears coloured by guilt and regret, and she deserves them, but she’s not going to wallow in them any longer.

“I told Mum about Baby Fred,” Ginny admits exhaling deeply like the breath expels the years of secrets she’d been keeping tightly bottled within her.

Harry freezes, and Ginny sees the tension settle in his shoulders as he grips the kitchen counter. He’d begged her for so long to tell Molly and Arthur about the baby. But Ginny had so vehemently refused, knowing that it would only add to her parent’s anguish to admit that she and Harry had lost a baby named in honour of her murdered brother. 

But, when she’d told Molly this afternoon, Molly’s reaction hadn’t just been coloured again by the grief of losing Fred Weasley, but the anguish that her daughter too had experienced the profound earth-shattering loss of having her child die. Parents should not outlive their children, and the memory of the unborn Fred Potter wasn’t just buried in his parent’s hearts, but deep inside their souls like a dark painful secret.

“I wish you’d told me you were going to tell Molly,” Harry croaks, his voice barely rising above a whisper, eyes fixed on the countertop, refusing to turn towards Ginny. “I could have been there with you. You didn’t have to do that alone.”

Ginny gulps back the lump in her throat again. She can’t openly cry here; if he sees her tears it’s over. Because he’ll comfort her and then she’s fucked. It’ll ruin everything.

“I wish you’d been there too,” Ginny admits. It’s the truth, and she so desperately wants him to turn around and look at her. “I should have told her a long time ago. And with your permission, I’ll tell the others too.”

Harry turns slowly towards her. “You’re asking my permission to tell the rest of your family?” 

Ginny nods slowly, and she’d be lying if she said the look on his face, the soft sad look didn’t lodge squarely in her aching heart. “I’ve made a lot of choices for _our_ family without you. And I’m sorry.” 

Harry exhales, anguish enveloping him. Jesus. He swallows thickly, eyes fixed on hers. “I don’t want to hide Fred any longer.” 

“And what about what happened between us?”

Harry knows what she’s asking, whether it's okay she explains her breakup with Neville with a confession of her infidelity with Harry, but he’s not willing to answer until he knows the answer to the question he’d had the moment she’d said it was over between her and Neville, but he’d pushed aside in wanting to know first if she was okay.

“If Friday night didn’t happen… would you really have married him?”

Ginny sighs deeply. “Can I have another shot of whisky before I answer that?” 

Harry nods and sends the decanter and a fresh glass towards her without using his wand. It settles gently on the table in front of her, and she smiles a little at the wand free magic, removing the crystal lid to pour herself a healthy shot of amber liquid. She takes a deep galvanising breath before she gulps down a large portion of the glass, hissing slightly as it slides down her throat. Large drops slip down her chin and she wipes them awkwardly with the back of her hand as she swallows thickly, and it’s so stupidly endearing, Harry finds the tension in his shoulders releasing a little. Ginny swirls the remaining liquid around the crystal glass for a moment, focusing on the way the whisky works its warmth from the pit of her stomach to her fingertips, and the feeling is fortifying. 

“Honestly?” she asks, finally looking up again to meet his gaze. 

He’s still standing against the kitchen counter, arms now folded against his chest, but she thinks maybe his demeanour has thawed a little, and she’s suddenly aware that the more honest she is, the more receptive he is. 

“Please,” he says with a calm nod studying her pensively, and his newfound patience would be endearing if it wasn’t attached to asking her hard questions she’s barely had a chance to ask herself. 

“Yes, I think I would have,” Ginny admits sadly. “And I would have regretted it. Harry, Neville is my best friend. And, I do love him. Not in the same way I’ve ever loved you, but he made me feel whole again. Granted, the little pieces were stuck together a little differently this time…”

“Kintsugi,” Harry supplies, the philosophy springing to mind immediately, and when Ginny raises a curiously confused eyebrow, Harry continues. “ _Kintsugi..._ it’s a Japanese tradition of mending broken pottery with gold. The belief is that embracing the imperfections and flaws creates a stronger, more beautiful piece…what?” 

Ginny smiles softly as Harry blushes a little at his abstract interjections, her thumbs tracing the crystal pattern on the glass.

“Sorry,” Harry adds, “there is this muggle art gallery across from the Ministry that I pass at lunchtime and they have this new exhibition and…” he shakes his head in frustration at himself. “It’s stupid, don’t worry...what where you saying?” 

Ginny’s smile grows and Harry, feeling more awkward asks again, “What?” but her smile is a bit infectious if he’s being honest, and he finds the corners of his lips starting to tick upwards into a smile. 

“You don’t get it, do you?” she asks him softly, sipping at the last of the whisky in her glass. 

“I do get it,” Harry supplies. “What you felt for Neville was real...”

“No, I know you understand about that,” Ginny says kindly. “I mean…” Ginny sighs. _Why is this so hard?_ “Harry, Neville isn’t the king sugi or whatever it’s called…”

“ _Kint-sugi…_ ” Harry repeats a little exasperatedly, wishing he hadn’t said anything. 

Ginny beams at him and his correction and Harry laughs. 

“Okay, now I know you’re laughing at me…” he says, partly annoyed, partly relieved the tension between them is starting to dissipate. 

“I’m not,” Ginny says with a genuine smile. “Harry, it is the right sentiment, _wrong_ person. Neville was more like a piece of the same puzzle...but not the adjacent piece, not the piece that fits directly with me. Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I realise, you’re the _Kintsugi_ -” Harry smiles because she’s pronounced it right, “to my broken pieces…”

He’s looking at her with something akin to the love and kindness she felt wrapped up in his arms on Saturday morning after they’d made love, and it's so conflicting. On one hand, a hand she hadn’t let herself play, she realises with a fierce sober intensity she wants that love, she does, she wants it all, everything he’s willing to give her...but on the other hand, she recognises how willfully destructive this behaviour pattern of hers has become. What she so desperately wants...and what she needs right now, feel almost so mutually exclusive that she’s having trouble reconciling her emotional and physical reactions to the man standing before her. 

“You look exhausted,” Harry says, bridging the silence that’s fallen between them. It’s not said with malice, more of an observation, one he doesn’t like, like her exhaustion relating in any way back to him makes him feel brutish and responsible.

“I’ve spent most of the day crying,” Ginny admits. “It’s been an emotional...what’s that thing called?…the uppy-downy thing muggle kids ride on? We went on that giant one out in Chertsey that time for Hermione’s birthday…”

“A rollercoaster?” Harry says with a small smile of the memory from a lifetime ago. Taking Ron and Ginny to Thorpe Park had been a hilarious experience, watching the Weasley siblings marvel at the rides created without magic. 

“Yes! It’s been an emotional _rollercoaster_. That’s the right context, right?” Ginny’s brow knits in that worried way when she gets obvious muggle things wrong. She’d been proud of her ability over the years to assimilate easily into muggle life in London, even taking pride in using muggle phrases in conversation with her Dad, much to their mutual delight. 

Harry nods. “Yeah, that explains it perfectly,” he reassures her. He’s looking at her so intensely, watching her so carefully, that she blushes a little under the scrutiny. 

“I can just say Neville and I are over because I was unfaithful,” she says hesitantly, conceding that if Harry’s not willing, she can take the sole responsibility for this on her own. “It’s not a lie, I just won’t mention your name…” 

Harry frowns. 

“Gin, why did you come here? You said Neville broke up with you...and you came here...why? Especially after the way we left things on Saturday morning…”

Ginny’s brow furrows, producing a deep crease of concern on her forehead. 

“Harry, I said a lot of things to you that I meant at the time. But, on reflection, I was wrong. I don’t mean them anymore,” Ginny admits soberly. “If I was so desperate to hang onto things with Neville...I never would have told him. And it would have been painful to live with. I wanted him to know the truth, and part of me still wanted him to be okay with what I’d done. I wanted absolution and acceptance from him. But I was relieved when he didn’t give me that. And, I came here after he asked me to leave because I wanted you to be the first to know. I owed it to you. And, I know it looks bad like I’m turning up on your doorstep begging you to take me back straight away–”

“Are you begging for me to take you back?” Harry asks softly. 

Ginny exhales loudly, perplexed on how to answer, her eyes casting around the room as her thoughts roam wildly about unbridled in her fraught and exhausted mind before her gaze meets Harry’s again. Is she? Maybe a little? Maybe she’s just asking for a promise for now.

“I don’t expect anything from you, not after how I hurt you time and time again, I just need you to know that. I just don’t want any more misunderstandings between us. I still love you. And I always will. But, I know that maybe that’s too little too late..?”

Harry closes his eyes, taking a moment to consider what Ginny’s just admitted. Just hours ago he’d closed the door on their future together. He’d told himself he was done. And, in true Ginny Weasley style, here she was, blasting that damn door wide open again. The feeling of wanting to cross the kitchen and kiss her again flares within him again, and he knows that if he made that move, she wouldn’t stop him. And Jesus, he wanted her. He would never stop wanting her…

Harry’s eyes open, and Ginny notices a renewed softness in his gaze. A small glimmer of hope.

“I want to be with you,” Harry tells her gently. “...it’s all I have ever wanted Gin since I was _six-fucking-teen_. My feelings have never changed, and they will never change. So there is no rush here.” Harry moves towards her and for a moment she thinks he might kiss her, but instead his lips softly brush the top of her head, his hand squeezing her shoulder comfortingly for a moment before his touch drops away. “You can tell people the truth about us.”

Ginny breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“I’ll make up the spare room for you,” he tells her. “And, you can stay as long as you need.”

Harry’s across the room heading for the stairs before Ginny registers fully what’s just happened. There is still the possibility of a future for them. They just need time, and the hint of promise, the spark of a silver lining in all of this mess, helps buoy the relief she’d felt in leaving the little house in Slough a couple of hours ago.

“Harry, you don’t have to—” Ginny protests, fearing she’s overstayed her welcome, pushed herself into his space when there is still a lot to work through, and she knows she should be hesitant, because he’s being hesitant, drawing the boundary between them, that she can stay here, but in her own space, and it’s damn confusing and willfully frustrating because she knows it is probably the smartest move either of them has made about each other in a long time. 

“I know,” Harry says, turning back to look at her from the doorway. “You’re welcome here, Gin until we figure out our next move.”

# # #

T U E S D A Y.

Ginny’s sleep isn’t as restful as she’d like in the third bedroom of Grimmauld Place, her thoughts plagued with guilt for Neville, and how this has all gone down the same week his surrogate father has died, and the latent anxiety of her possible future relationship with Harry being on pause until they can tackle this without her yet-to-be-officially-cancelled-wedding hanging over her head. Today she has to cancel her wedding to a man whose heart she’s broken and try to not indulge her feelings for the man she very much desires in the adjacent bedroom.

 _You don’t deserve either of their forgiveness_ , her torturously critical brain reminds her, _you’ve hurt both of them too much._ But she tries to block the cruel voice out, tries to be kind to herself for a little while, free from the wallowing of her actions. Yes, she’s fucked up. But she’s also got to get the fuck on with fixing it too, or it’ll eat her alive.

Ginny’s got a lunchtime training session on Tuesdays, so she sleeps in as long as she can, until the heavy footfalls of Harry and Draco carry more loudly through the hall as they traipse from their respective rooms to the kitchen for coffee and breakfast. This whole situation is weird and awkward, sharing a house with Harry and Draco. So Ginny waits until she hears the telltale signs of their breakfast wrapping up, to appear in the hall dressed in sports attire she can wear for a long jog around Islington to clear her head before heading to Holyhead. 

“Hi,” she says brightly, almost nervously, greeting Harry as he steps in the hall from the kitchen, pulling a navy blazer over his black button-up and black tie. 

They are only a foot apart, and both take a moment to consider this is the closest proximity—aside from his platonic comforts last night—they’d been in since they’d been naked together on the weekend. 

He smells of new cologne, and Ginny has the sudden thought that like the newly painted grey walls of his bedroom, Harry had changed his scent to remove any memories associated with Ginny. The problem was, she thinks that this new cologne is the very embodiment of Amortentia to her, it smells like the grass of a fresh pitch, her favourite red wine, and...home.

“Hi,” he says with a genuinely happy to see her smile as he smoothes down the back of his collar. “Sleep okay?” 

“Great, thank you,” she says, giving Draco a warm smile as he too emerges from the kitchen, a piece of buttered toast hanging between his teeth as he flips through a small leather notepad. 

Draco pulls the piece of toast from between his teeth and flashes her a wide smile. 

“Morning, Weasley,” he says with a wink. He’s dressed in all black today, except for the emerald green dragonhide loafers which are not Ministry issued, and the grin which says he’s very amused by this whole situation. 

“We’re running late,” Harry tells her before Draco can say anything else, moving towards the front door. “Draco and I are following up a lead. There are eggs and toast for you in the kitchen. Eat, please.” 

He knows what she’s like, that her appetite disappears in the middle of emotional turmoil, and she’s a bit touched that he’s now gone out of his way twice to accommodate her comforts with a place to sleep and breakfast. 

“Thank you,” Ginny tells him with a soft smile.

She looks calm and confident this morning, her hair draped over her shoulder in her signature long red braid, her athletic figure almost blindingly attractive in long sleek ankle-length black running bottoms, white running shoes, and a Holyhead branded windbreaker that conceals a white sports bra emblazoned with H A R P I E S in green letters.

His mind wanders to the image of her in this very hall on Friday night, back pressed into the wall by his adjacent office, his hand working beneath the black lace of her tiny underwear...

“Gin, you can stay as long or as little as you like. No pressure,” he says, willing his treacherous erotic memories of her to disappear. 

He’d spent a good chunk of time since walking at 4 am thinking about Ginny, and what it had been like to have her back in his bed. Unsurprisingly Draco had teased him mercilessly over breakfast, knowing that the proximity to Ginny now that they’d talked through, and partly resolved _some_ things, would be tantamount to torture. Draco had crowed about having the best seat in the universe to witness it, and it had earned him the empty threat of weekend surveillance duty in Diagon Alley, which Draco was fine with, reminding Harry that Astoria’s place was just around the corner anyway. 

“Is Draco okay with that?” Ginny asks with a smile to Draco over Harry’s shoulder.

Ginny didn’t want to overstay her welcome.

“Of course,” Draco agrees suavely, finishing the last of his toast and pocketing his notebook.

Harry doesn’t even look at Draco when he supplies, “He’ll also keep his mouth shut about it too. Especially as his girlfriend—“

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Draco corrects with a grin.

“—is the new Deputy Editor of the Daily Prophet.”

Ah yes, Harry had mentioned on Friday that Draco was seeing Astoria Greengrass, but Ginny had failed to connect the dots that she was the Reporter turned Editor from the Prophet. 

Draco rolls his eyes, folding his arms against his chest. “Trust me, I have better things to talk about during pillow talk than your living arrangements. Besides, I like paying very little rent and living in the centre of London.”

Ginny is curious about the full story of how Harry and Draco ended up as housemates in the first place, but she supposes it’s something to add to the list of things her and Harry should talk about at a later date. 

“Thank you,” Ginny tells Draco earnestly. “I’m sure the press will get wind of it soon; I just need a little more time to get ahead of it. I need to talk to the PR team at the Harpies and figure out the best way to minimise the impact on Harry and Neville.” 

“Worry about Neville and yourself,” Harry tells her kindly. 

And it goes unsaid that he’s worried given she’s the cheating party in all this she’s going to cop more prudent judgment in the press and by fans than he will. And he’s not too happy about that. Being unpopular doesn’t hurt his career. But being unpopular reduces ticket sales to Quidditch matches.

She gives him a look that says she’ll worry about all three of them thank you very much, especially as Harry was very high up at the Ministry. 

“I have lunchtime training today before tomorrow’s match, so I’ll be home before you,” Ginny reminds Harry and he nods. 

“No problem. The incantation for the front door is still the same. Floo is still private, but you should be fine from Holyhead, any of your brother’s places, Andromeda’s, Hogwarts or The Burrow. You can come and go as you please.” 

“What?” Ginny smiles as Draco sniggers at Harry.

“The incantation,” Draco says rolling his eyes. “ _Witches get Snitches_? Bloody ridiculous.” 

“It was Gin’s idea,” Harry says with a grin. 

They’d laughed about it for ages when they’d first started to renovate Grimmauld Place. It was still unplottable for those that didn’t know it’s location, and Harry had increased the security tenfold over the years, wanting Ginny to be safe from all the enemies he made in his job, and the press that had taken a lot of shine to Ginny as her fame on the pitch developed, but the door incantation had been low fi security and silly. And they’d kept it. It was too ridiculous and reminded them of how young and idealistic they’d been when they’d first moved in together. 

“Yeah, that explains a lot,” Draco replies drolly. He waggled his eyebrows at Ginny. “Montrose forever, Weasley.”

Ginny grins back at him, and Harry laughs, stepping away from them and the Quidditch sledging that’s about to unfold. Especially with tomorrow’s big match on the cards. 

“I’ll send Wilson your best when I kick his arse on the pitch tomorrow,” Ginny says smartly to Draco and he makes a loud sound of disgust. 

“You’ve got no hope,” Draco taunts. “You only scored three goals last match…”

But Ginny shrugs, still grinning at Draco, not the least offended by his sledge. She’s the highest-scoring Chaser in the league. 

“Alright, alright…” Harry says, shooing Draco towards the door. “We have places to be. Gin, if you need anything, send a Patronus okay?” 

Ginny tuts. “Harry, I’m not sending a Patronus for anything less than a proper emergency, and you shouldn’t condone that…”

“Gin,” Harry says soundly, “just humble me okay?” 

“Okay,” she agrees with a smile. “Now go.” 

“Thank you,” he says with a smile, as Draco opens the front door. “I’ll see you later.” 

Ginny waves at them as they leave and Draco is shaking his head with amusement when Harry pulls the door closed behind him. They usually apparate from the laneway across the square in the daylight as it affords them more cover than the front step of Grimmauld Place, and Draco points them in that direction. 

“What?” Harry asks, burying his hands in the pockets of his trousers as he falls into step beside Draco. Draco grins. 

“You’re so fucked, mate,” Draco laughs. 

Harry sighs and nods. “I know,” he admits. 

# # #

“This place couldn’t be more different from Malfoy Manor,” Harry murmurs to Draco as they wait awkwardly in the drawing-room of Narcissa Malfoy’s terrace house and home office with a view over Regent’s Park for her to finish with her previous appointment. “What is she doing these days? This isn’t cheap. I thought the Malfoy fortune was tied up after the divorce?”

The room is light, airy and expensively finished, with white walls adorned with bright colourful paintings, mostly of romantic scenes of cliché love scenes, the subjects whispering and giggling to their friends in adjacent paintings about the fact Harry Potter is standing in their midst. It’s incredibly unnerving and bizarre. 

Draco, who is sitting on the long tan leather Chesterfield sofa, admiring his dragonhide loafers sighs with boredom. 

“It is,” Draco drawls lazily, and Harry can’t work out if he is actually that nonplussed or trying very hard to seem that way. “Have you not renewed your subscription to _Reformed Death Eater Monthly_ …? I know I’m the star subject having turned Informant _and_ Auror —double traitor—but my Mother has outdone herself too, shedding the Malfoy snakeskin after divorcing my father. She’s writing books for witches. Romance novels.” 

Harry grins. “Really?” 

This room makes a lot more sense now. 

“ _Really_ . Under the Nom De Plume Delilah White…” Draco says wiggling his eyebrows. “Which is a name overcompensating for _something_ if you ask me…”

Harry’s mouth drops open. “You’re kidding,” he chuckles. 

There is a stack of Delilah White’s latest novel on the side table near Draco. Harry picks up one with a hot pink background and black and white image of a tastefully naked and artfully covered embracing couple, with the words _The Billionaire’s Wand_ emblazoned in red cursive. The billionaire wizard is holding a wand in one hand, but it is certainly not that wand the title refers to. Harry shows Draco the cover, eliciting a snigger from him, and then flicks through it, and expectantly finds paragraphs of exposition dedicated to raunchy erotic scenes.

“Ginny and her Mum love these books,” says Harry as he continues to leaf through it. “And Draco they aren’t just romance novels. They are erotic romance novels. Like... _really_ erotic.”

Draco grins, as he stands and rebuttons his jacket smartly. “I know, Potter. Narcissa _Malfoy_ writes spicy erotic novels for witches. Who’d have thought?” 

The door on the opposite side of the room, with a small golden plaque adorned with ‘Writing Room’, opens, and Narcissa Malfoy steps out, dressed in long billowing white couture robes, her black and white blonde streaked hair secured in an elaborate chignon at the nape of her neck. She’s incredibly overdressed for 9 AM, and her poor suffering assistant, a young blonde wizard Harry thinks he might recognise from Hogwarts, trails behind her in a three-piece cobalt blue suit, with matching blue hair.

“Draco,” Narcissa beams tenderly, stepping towards her son, but with a cold grimace, Draco folds his arms across his chest, rebuffing her completely. Narcissa folds her hands nearly together and pretends she hadn’t been trying for a hug. 

“Hi,” Draco nods, strictly professional, boundaries drawn. 

They’d agreed Harry would take the lead on this interview, but now they were here Draco seemed extremely caustic, which Harry hoped didn’t hinder Narcissa’s helpfulness.

Clearly hurt, but quickly recovering with a large smile that no longer seemed as genuine, Narcissa turns instead towards Harry.

“Auror Potter,” she says welcomingly. 

“Ms...Black,” Harry replies, catching himself just in time. Draco’s parents had had a very messy and public divorce after the war, but Narcissa had only recently changed her name back to Black. Draco insisted on ignoring his mother’s preferred use of maiden name just to annoy her. “Thank you for meeting with us. We appreciate your time.” 

“My Assistant, Jacob,” she says airily gesturing to blue suit, who grimaces awkwardly and gives a small wave, “said you thought I was a person of interest in one of your investigations?” 

Harry nods firmly.

“Yes, Ma’am, an investigation related to Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange.” 

Narcissa blinks at him with wide surprised eyes, and a silence falls on the room. Narcissa’s hand presses to her chest for a moment, and she looks briefly and genuinely rattled at Harry’s mention of Bellatrix.

Harry briefly notes Draco's intense look at his mother, his brow furrowed at her reaction. 

“Bellatrix has been gone for more than a decade, Auror Potter,” Narcissa replies, and then adds a little more pointedly, “as you well know. And you already have Rodolphus in prison. What are you investigating _exactly_?” 

Narcissa is not a stranger to Auror interviews, and she is drawing the boundaries of what she is required to be forthcoming on. Harry notes that her shoulders tense a little, some of the lofty light disposition of the woman who had practically floated into the room in white robes wavering a little.

“The nature of Bellatrix Lestrange’s relationship with Tom Riddle,” Draco tells her, watching Narcissa carefully, his voice as flat as possible.

His reference to Voldemort as Tom Riddle has Narcissa chortling in surprise, her long darkly painted eyelashes blinking slowly. 

“Work slow in The Auror Office then? Have you finally put every dark wizard in prison, Auror Potter?” 

Harry chose to ignore her comment and gives her a firm look. 

“It pertains to another investigation,” Harry says seriously clearing his throat, making it clear he’s requesting a straight answer. “About Bellatrix and Tom,” Harry follows suit, knowing Draco had used Voldemort’s real name to help disarm the situation, “and the possibility that they had a child?”

“If you know anything, _Ms Black_ ,” Draco adds, “It’d be extremely advantageous that you share that information.” 

Draco coldness towards his Mother seems to provoke something within her. A fire to comply and help him despite their estranged relationship, hoping that it’ll thaw something within her son. Harry can’t help to think it’s misguided. Draco drew a line between himself and his family shortly after the war and their trials that said he’d never cross them again. He kept their name but it was more to spite them, to be the first Malfoy ever to fight against the dark instead of live in it. 

Narcissa exhales deeply and gestures airily towards Jacob, who moves to an ornate gold tea trolley by the window and begins fixing tea in an expensive-looking Bone China tea set. 

“Right. Well then Auror Potter, Auror Malfoy, I guess you’d better sit down,” Narcissa tells them with a small smile. “Tea?”

# # #

Harry is still reeling from the interview with Narcissa an hour later when he arrives back at The Auror Office. Draco had volunteered to write up the notes of their interview so they’d parted ways in the corridor, Draco heading for the bullpen of Auror cubicles and his small desk, and Harry heading for the Minister’s Office on the other side of the floor to let Anna, the shared Executive Assistant to Harry, Hermione, Gawain and Kingsley know he’s returned. 

He’d had his morning meetings reschedule, and could already see a flock of memos and reports waiting at his closed office door hovering nervously, their paper wings flapping in desperation to make it to his desk. He’s reading through the third note in a stack of twelve when Hermione appears at his glass door, her smile bright and friendly, a stack of files from her previous meeting tucked studiously under her arm.

“Morning, you’ve been out early?” She inquires, and Harry nods, placing the memo he’d been reading back on the pile.

“Morning,” he says with a friendly smile. “Yes, Draco and I had an early interview with Narcissa _Malfoy_.” 

Hermione’s eyebrow lifts with interest. Harry had mentioned it, but with her focus on Gawain and keeping him largely occupied away from Harry’s case, for the time being, she’d forgot that interview was first up this morning. 

Hermione steps into Harry’s office and Harry helpfully closes the door behind her with a gesture. It’s probably the only advanced piece of magic Hermione had failed to truly grasp, and it’s an annoyingly humbling reminder every time Harry does it. But Hermione’s long since learnt reacting to it, only gives more Harry cause to tease her with it. 

“And, how did it go?” She asks impatiently.

Harry grins. They’d finally had a breakthrough.

“Bellatrix was pregnant, and she did have a baby in the summer of ‘97,” Harry divulges. “The baby was only a few weeks old at the Battle of Hogwarts, and Narcissa swears she hasn’t seen the baby since.”

“Wow. So it’s true?” 

Harry nods. “Narcissa states Rodolphus said he had a family friend that could take care of _Bellatrix's daughter_ until after Bellatrix and Voldemort…well, killed me. That obviously didn’t happen, neither of them made it out of Hogwarts alive, and Narcissa was convinced that when Rodolphus said he was going to find someone to ‘take care’ of the daughter, he actually meant having the baby…” Harry pauses, “killed.” 

Hermione makes a horrified face–a reaction made even more potent when she thinks about Rosie––and frowns.

“That’s horrible. Why did none of this come up at the trials?” She asks incredulously. 

Harry sighs heavily, digging his hands into his trouser pockets. He shrugs. The rumours of a Voldetrix child didn’t start until well after the last Death Eater trial. It had started as speculative gossip but never had legs to take off as a full theory. 

“Because nobody knew; so no one from the Ministry thought to ask questions. I can certainly say it wasn’t on any list of questions I had. People don’t just volunteer information unless there is something in it for them. I’d assume any current Death Eater who knew, knowing Rodolphus is still alive, probably didn’t dare mention it during their hearing under threat of death or family ruin. There were a few families that received retribution after the trials as the dust settled… houses torched, mysterious deaths, memories wiped... Ron and I investigated a few of them in our first couple of years. It was hard to see people who had done the right thing end up as collateral damage.”

Hermione is silent for a moment as she considers the repercussions of this investigation on Harry after their visit to Godric’s Hollow. Harry, being an orphan, had been particularly drawn to cases with children over the years, but having lost his own and going through a messy whatever-it-currently-was with Ginny, Hermione wondered if Harry needed to be involved with this. Is it too much for Harry to investigate the child of the man who killed his parents? Is it too close to home on too many levels when he’s already got enough emotional turmoil on his plate?

“Are you sure you want to stay Lead Investigator on this? I mean, with everything going on right now…?” 

The inference of ‘...with you and Ginny…’ goes unsaid, but not unheard.

“Yes,” Harry says plainly, not wanting to be blunt, but firm. “I want to know the truth. And if there is a daughter of Voldemort’s out there somewhere, I want to find her. And, _help_ her, Hermione. I want her to be safe. We don’t choose our parents and we don’t choose the trauma they leave us with either.”

“Okay,” Hermione agrees. While Robards had given Harry this case to exploit Harry’s interest in Voldemort, Hermione surmised that Robards had hoped to appeal more to Harry’s sense of righteousness and justice, instead of the humility Hermione could see. 

Harry was a formidable Auror, an excellent investigator and dark wizard catcher. But her best friend was also kind, and thoughtful and never wished any of the traumas he’d lived through on anyone else. His entire life had been shaped by Voldemort marking him as a foe; Harry didn’t want the same fate to befall Voldemort’s daughter just because they shared blood.

“Speaking of everything going on right now…” Harry adds apprehensively, scratching at his head, searching for the right words to divulge the information to Hermione about last night and Ginny. “You should know Neville broke up with Ginny.” 

Hermione’s mouth drops open in disbelief. She is Ginny’s Maid of Honor, why is Harry telling her this? 

“What? How do you know?” She asked stepping toward the desk, her voice scandalously low. 

“Because she’s staying at Grimmauld Place,” Harry says stoically. “He broke up with her last night, and Ginny needed a place to stay.”

Hermione holds his gaze. “Harry…” she censures and Harry lifts his palms to her in innocence. 

“In her own room, Hermione,” Harry surrenders, “ _not_ with me. She’s lying low from everyone until she figures out her next move.”

“ _I’m_ not everyone,” Hermione bites hotly, feeling very annoying that Ginny confided in her about sleeping with Harry, but had yet to say anything about breaking up with Neville. Those two things had to be related; Neville had to know. The wedding was in four days! 

Harry smiles calmly. “I know that Hermione. It’s ten-thirty in the morning. I’m sure Ginny will be in touch soon. I just wanted you to know from me, that she’s at Grimmauld Place. Anything else is Ginny’s business…” 

Hermione narrows her eyes at him, a little more suspiciously than he’d like. He’s too calm, his spirits a direct contrast to the man that had asked for her help closing the Ginny chapter of his life yesterday. Hermione suspects more is unfolding than just a breakup between Ginny and Neville. 

“I’m not sure having Ginny at Grimmauld Place is the smartest option _..._ ”

Harry rolls his eyes and sighs. 

“I tend to agree, but what do you want me to do Hermione? Throw her out? Neville broke up with her because of what happened between us. It’s complicated and delicate and she’s trying to figure out a plan.” Harry sighs, but his exasperation gives way to a smaller sad smile. “She wants to finally tell everyone about Fred…” 

Hermione breathes a large sigh of relief. “That’s good, right?” She asks nervously.

Harry smiles. “Yeah, it’s good. No more secrets.” 

Hermione grins. “Hallelujah.” She steps forward and places the top folder from her stash on Harry’s desk. “More good news for you. Transfer papers for Lestrange. Once you sign these, it’s going to set off the whole chain reaction. So be sure. Sit on them for a bit if you need.”

Harry reaches for them, flipping over the cover of the folder, his expression incredulously to how quickly Hermione had worked. They’d been drafting this dossier last night and she’d already put it into action. 

“Kingsley’s involved?” Harry asks, noting the handwritten note from Kingsley on top of the official documents. 

Normally he’d deal with Kingsley directly, they had an excellent working relationship, but Hermione had wanted to act as a liaison between them, hoping that keeping Harry away from any obvious meetings with Kingsley would also keep Gawain in the dark to their plans.

_____

_You have my full support._

_Let’s debrief before you make any big moves._

_K_

______

“A little,” Hermione admits. “He doesn’t know the details on your Robards hunch, but he’ll want to know if you find something. Plausible deniability until that time, just in case this goes pear-shaped,” Hermione adds brightly. 

Harry gives her a curious look. This was her plan. One they’d drafted after much deliberation together last night. “Wonderful,” Harry deadpans, “thanks.” The fact he was still playing the scapegoat nineteen years later no longer surprised him. 

Hermione looks excitedly pleased with herself, and her tenacity on this even though it could result in the takedown of an important Ministry official had Harry’s curiosity piqued. 

Harry flicks through the papers quickly while Hermione watches, and then satisfied everything is in order as they discussed, he secures the files in the top drawer of his desk. Once the drawer is locked with the signature of his wand, Harry reholsters it and studies at his friend carefully. One thing they hadn’t discussed with this whole Robards and Lestrange business was what happens if Robards is corrupt, and removed from the DMLE. Hermione, and then Harry, were next in line to take the job.

“What’s your next move, Hermione?” Harry asks. “Azkaban Reform...then what? You’re not here for Robards’ job.” 

“Sick of me already?” Hermione laughs, deflecting the question. “I’ve only been here a year.”

Harry shakes his head, smiling. “No, not at all actually, I enjoy working with you. I’m just trying to figure it out. The DMLE is a stepping stone for someone with your expertise. But to what _exactly_?” 

“Have you thought about getting a hobby?” Hermione asks kindly, teasing him and now Harry knows she has a plan. 

She’s largely unflappable, but he can see she doesn’t like being questioned by him. That it’s disarming, having her best friend, an expert investigator, as her colleague sometimes. 

“This is my hobby…” Harry says, “I investigate things. And you’re one to talk,” he notes wryly, “when was the last time you had a hobby?” 

“I like cooking,” she lies, and Harry laughs. 

“No you don’t, you hate it. Ron likes cooking.”

Hermione grins. “No, Ron likes eating...that’s different. He wouldn’t cook at all if he didn’t get sick of me ordering the same dishes from the Thai place across from our house.” 

“Hermione, what’s your next move?” Harry presses and Hermione rolls her eyes. 

“I don’t have a _next move_ yet Harry. I’ve still got work to do here.” She grimaces. “A lot of work actually,” she says, checking her watch and frowning. “I’ve got an 11 AM with Gawain. Give me the heads up when that transfer order goes into play.” 

Harry knows she’s sidestepping his query, but he’s happy to let it go for now. He nods in agreement. Satisfied, Hermione turns for the door, opening it with her wand. 

“Be careful, Harry. I hope this works.” 

“Lost faith in me already?” he asks playfully with a grin, and she smiles. 

“You could sort this Lestrange mess with your eyes closed and hands tied behind your back. I mean with Ginny. You love her so much you just give her what she wants. What she wants...isn’t always what she needs.”

“I’m well aware…” Harry agrees. 

“And?” Hermione says expecting him to defend either himself or Ginny, but Harry doesn’t. 

He’s going to keep his and Ginny’s promise to each other last night to himself for now. 

“And?” Harry chuckles, “Hermione, maybe your hobby is meddling?” he teases. 

Hermione laughs and grins back at him. 

“Well, we both know that’s not news,” she says and leaves his office. 

# # #

Harry’s on his way back from a midday case briefing with Taylor’s team taking bites out of an apple given his meeting schedule said he was still hours away from lunch when Draco appears at his side.

“Boss,” he says urgently, making Harry stop in his tracks, just outside Hermione’s office. “Astoria’s just sent a reporter to Holyhead...the breakup has been leaked to the press.”

“Fuck,” Harry curses choking on the piece of apple in his mouth and dissolving into a coughing fit, and the sound has Hermione and a couple of nearby Aurors looking up from their desk in concern. 

“Want me to send a Hit Wizard team to check it out?” Draco suggests as Harry coughs, his concern for Ginny showing he’s not the source of the leak. “Jones is going to cause a stir if a reporter sets foot anywhere near Weasley or the stadium. You know what she’s like.” 

He does know what Gwenog Jones is like. She’s fiercely protective of her team. And, Ginny’s unlikely to take being cornered by reporters with accusations lightly. This could get out of hand fast. 

“No, I’ll handle it,” Harry says firmly, hoping to avoid the situation unravelling into a duel. Or Ginny getting involved in any way. 

“Harry—?” Hermione asks curiously from the doorway, noting the concern on both Draco and Harry’s faces. “Everything alright?” 

“I’ve got to go–” Harry tells her in a low voice, trying to assuage any concern.

But before Harry’s finished talking, Draco adds, “Press knows about the breakup, reporters are heading to Holyhead now.”

“Shit,” Hermione says, her face colouring with worry, and then she looks at Draco with surprise. “Wait, you know about Harry and Ginny?” she whispers. 

“I live at Grimmauld Place too remember?” Draco counters in a low voice. “It’d be hard to miss.” 

Harry gives them both a look that says this isn’t helping. He waves at Lynch from across two rows of desks. 

“Lynch, I’m borrowing Malfoy for the afternoon,” he calls loudly.

Lynch, a tall dark-haired Auror in her late 40s turns away from the conversation she’d been having with another Auror at her desk. “Take him; he’s a lazy fucker anyway,” she calls back in a strong Irish lilt making Draco grin. She turns back to MacIntosh like the interruption hadn’t happened. 

“Draco, just...make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid…” Hermione says, and when Harry glares at her–He’s Draco’s boss’ boss for fuck sake–she finishes with, “anything _else_ stupid, I mean…” 

Draco grins. “Not a problem DH Granger,” he says with a little salute that earns him another glare from Harry. 

“If you two are quite done,” Harry snaps, he hands Hermione the half-eaten apple, which she instinctively takes like she would if he was Rosie handing her a half-eaten snack, “we have a pack of Harpies to face.” 

Draco preens, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt a little. “Pretty much my favourite way to spend a Tuesday afternoon.” 

They are only a few strides away, heading towards the hallway and bank of elevators, when Ron, dressed in a ridiculous combination of a hot pink jumper and bright orange chinos embroidered with a pattern of pink WWWs, arrives almost walking headlong into Harry and Draco. 

“Hi, Mate!” Ron greets cheerfully, and Harry counters with a cheerful, “Alright, Ron? I’ll catch you later!” 

“Woah, full Auror blur...see’ ya then,” Ron says happily, nonplussed to find his friend heading off full speed to an emergency. He waves a perfunctory goodbye and then turns back towards his waiting wife. 

“Hiya, Love,” he says to Hermione with a broad smile. “Ready for lunch?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing comments last chapter! x


	6. I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen has a proposition for Ginny. The Press hit fever-pitch. The situation spirals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: For everyone I promised bulk Ron this chapter...I am so sorry, but his big scene been moved to the next chapter! It’ll be worth the wait x

6: I COULD LIE, SAY I LIKE IT LIKE THAT, LIKE IT LIKE THAT

T U E S D A Y.

“How’s your elbow?” Gwen teases arching a thickly manicured dark eyebrow at Ginny from her position standing nonchalantly against the adjacent wall of the Holyhead treatment room.

She’s keeping her distance, letting Ginny have a bit of privacy as the Team Healer examines her injuries from the new, unperfected and bungled play that had happened only a few minutes into this morning’s training.

“Bit tender,” Ginny admits, holding the never-melt ice pack Patrick had just handed her to her aching arm. 

She winces as the cold spreads through her joint, numbing some of the pain.

How many more injuries was she going to sustain this week? Between Harry accidentally almost breaking her nose at the bar, and Maguire almost shattering her elbow with a bludger while practising the new manoeuvre for tomorrow, Ginny's had a painful start to the week in more ways than one.

“Ten more minutes with the ice and you should be fine to head home,” Patrick, the only male staff member and Gwen’s boyfriend ten years her junior says with a smile, making notes with a quill on his clipboard. “Weasley, I’d appreciate it if you could try not to crack your skull open or break a jaw tomorrow night; Jones and I have dinner plans with my sister.”

“We certainly do,” Gwen says with a large smile and a wink in the tall, broad, sandy-haired blond’s direction.

“Haha,” Ginny sasses drolly, making Patrick chuckle as he puts his clipboard down. “I’ll do my best. Can’t make any promises though. You know me, love a good match injury.” 

Patrick chuckles in reply, and Gwen gives her a smile that says while funny, is not particularly untrue.

“Patrick, can I talk to Gin for a minute, please?” Gwen asks with a more serious look, and he nods. 

Ginny glances between them curiously, and she has a feeling Patrick knows exactly what conversation he’s giving them privacy for.

“Of course,” Patrick replies brightly. “Gin, can you pop in early tomorrow so I can see if you’ve got any twinges before you hit the pitch? And try to lay off the pain potions if you can. I know your shoulder has been giving you some grief the last fortnight; but with a week’s rest and some anti-inflammatory charms next week, it should be as good as new. Just get through tomorrow’s match and I’ll have everything ready for you to take with you to Paris.” 

_Fuccccccccckkkkkkk. Paris. Fuck!_ Ginny’s brain screams. How had she forgotten next week she was meant to be swanning around the Seine with Neville? She’d lose her deposit on the hotel for sure with the late cancellation. Should she go anyway? Take a week, and a beat, to just regroup…?

“Sure,” Ginny agrees, feeling a small twinge of guilt at the mention of her honeymoon in Paris and her doomed, yet to be cancelled wedding. Patrick smiles.

“Brilliant. Jones, she’s all yours.”

He flashes Gwen a big smile as he leaves, one she returns, and Ginny waggles her eyebrows at Gwen teasingly. Gwen steps closer, pulling herself up to sit on the treatment table beside Ginny. Ginny’s feet are dangling over the edge, and she’s still dressed in her blood and mud-splattered training uniform. Gwen on the other hand has changed, debriefed the team and sent them home for an early night. Babushka play withstanding, they were well land truly ready to knock Montrose off the top spot on the ladder tomorrow. 

“He likes you,” Ginny notes with a happy smile for her friend, bumping her shoulder against Gwen’s. “And I think you like him too.”

“I do,” Gwen agrees, and she looks so ridiculously happy at the prospect that Ginny doesn’t have the heart to tease her. 

Gwen’s had a string of potential partners over the years, but Patrick seems to be the one that’s best matched to her. Plus their absolute mutual obsession with Quidditch helps. 

Ginny wishes she too felt that happy and relaxed; instead she was in this horrible limbo right now. She wishes she didn’t have this guilt for Harry or Neville just bubbling inside her, threatening to spill over. 

The collision had cut team training short and Ginny was desperate to get home and sink into the large deep tub at Grimmauld Place and soak some of the misery from her body. Then she needed to make a plan on cancelling Saturday’s ceremony.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Ginny asks with a wince as she moves the ice pack a little, pressing it harder against her sore arm. “I’m in full agreement if you want to take the Babushka play off tomorrow’s match plan.” 

“I think we’ll pull it for now; you’ve had enough medical for one week. I actually need to talk to you about next season. We need to make some team changes.” 

Oh, blimey. A team change usually meant someone was getting fired, traded or had resigned. But there had been no rumblings with the other witches about moving on. All of them seemed happy. Their current squad was the best team Holyhead had produced in years, and Gwen was proud of her envied line-up. 

Gwen’s demeanour is positive, but it’s not wholly Gwen, and Ginny can see that her long term mentor, Captain and friend is nervous about something. Gwenog Jones does not get nervous. Until right now, Ginny didn’t know she could…

“That’s ominous,” Ginny replies, but it doesn’t break the intensity in which Gwen is studying her.

Gwen grimaces and folds her arms against her chest. She doesn’t make direct eye contact with Ginny and a sense of dread washes over the Vice-Captain.

“Gwen, are you firing me?” Ginny asks abruptly and Gwen looks up at her incredulously for a moment and then barks with laughter.

“No, Ginny, I’m not firing you,” Gwen says amused.

“Then what aren’t you telling me?” 

Gwen considers her for a moment like she’s reconsidering divulging her next statement. But the concern written on Ginny’s face has her giving in. 

“I’m the one being fired, Gin, not you. They aren't renewing my contract next year; they are–” she hooks her fingers in air quotations, “ ‘retiring’ me. I won't have a position on the team next season.”

Ginny’s mouth drops open, and she frankly nearly drops the ice pack. “What? _Fuck_.” 

“Yeah,” Gwen concedes. 

She looks sad for a moment and Ginny panics. Gwenog Jones ‘retiring’ from the Harpies? The fans will be devastated and angry. Not to mention the players...Gwen is the heart of the team and has been for over two decades.

“Gwen that’s...” but Ginny can’t find the words. 

It’s devastating, but it is also so much more. Gwen was the one who saw the potential in Ginny in the first place. She got her back on the pitch after everything with Harry. Ginny owes her career, a career she deeply loves, to Gwen...

Gwen shrugs, and even though she’s accepting of the news, Ginny can also tell Gwen is hurt. 

“...that’s Quidditch, isn’t it?” Gwen laments. “I mean, I expected it. The writing’s been on the wall for a little while now. I’m forty-two. I’ve been with the Harpies since I was nineteen, captain for fifteen years. And my wrist,” Gwen rubs it absentmindedly, “isn’t as good as it used to be. And it’s been even more temperamental since the fall I took in the Puddlemere match.” 

“But, Gwen, your entire life is the team,” Ginny says numbly. “What are you going to do?” 

Quidditch was Gwen’s life. It was all their lives.

“Maybe, commentate?” Gwen shrugs again, and her resignation to her on-pitch career being over has Ginny crestfallen. “Write? Perhaps, Coach? Whatever I’m doing though, I'll proudly watch _you_ captain the team to another decade of glory…”

Ginny’s eyes widen. Captain? 

“Gwen—” her voice quivers in shock.

“Ginny,” Gwen says calmly, reaching for and squeezing Ginny’s shaking hand. “You’re ready. Or you will be before next season. The only way I will leave the Harpies even remotely quietly, is with you at the helm. You’ve been my Vice for 4 years. You’ve got this.”

“Are you sure?” Ginny asks a little breathlessly. 

Gwen nods enthusiastically, positively grinning now. “I’ve never been more sure. Don’t get me wrong, it’s more responsibility… more politics and bollocks...you’ll be the face of the team and we both know that’s neither easy nor fun most of the time…” 

Captain? It’s...incredible. It’s everything she’s worked for. But how can one part of her life be completely unravelling, and the other just...soaring?

“I’m in,” Ginny answers without hesitation.

“Yeah?” Gwen asks positively beaming. “I mean, it’s a big commitment and you’re about to get married…”

Ginny hesitates; her stomach sinks. Bollocks, she has to tell Gwen...not tomorrow...not after she gets a plan together with PR, but right now…it was the new deal she’d made with herself. The deal she’d made with Harry. Full transparency. How fucking terrifying.

“Ermm...I’m not actually…” Ginny admits, eyes looking nervously as the streaks of mud on her knees. “The wedding is….well, it’s off.”

Gwen gawks at her.

“What?! What happened?” Gwen asserts, sliding off the treatment table and rounding on her protege with concern. “Ginny, the wedding is in _four_ days! We postponed the camp to Germany so you could get married before Christmas…”

Of course, the training camp. They’d moved a fortnight-long end of year training camp and a whole match to accommodate Ginny and Neville’s wedding. And now that was wasted. 

Ginny blows out a long breath and sensing she’s maybe come on a bit too strong Gwen takes a step away. She’s looking expectantly at Ginny for an explanation. They both know this is going to reflect on the team somehow. It could be as little as a throwaway paragraph at the end of tomorrow’s match report, or it could be a full-blown back page scandal, and Gwen wants to know what to expect. 

“I know, I’m sorry…” 

Ginny briefly wonders how many apologies she’s going to need to issue. A hundred? A thousand? This isn’t even the start of it and she feels wretched. What happens when she has to tell her brothers and her Dad about it all? 

_Tell the truth,_ her subconscious reminds her.

“I cheated on Neville,” Ginny admits and Gwen groans loudly with frustration because a sex scandal is the worst. The sound reverberates around the tiled locker room and Gwen starts to pace back and forward in front of Ginny. “With Harry. And Neville’s crushed. He broke up with me.”

“You and Potter don’t know how to do things by halves do you?”

“Not really no,” Ginny admits feebly, and Gwen’s got to give Ginny points for self-awareness. 

“Poor Neville. He’s such a lovely guy, he didn’t deserve this; he adored you,” Gwen says. “This is a shit move Gin, and you know it.” 

“I know. I fucked up,” Ginny snaps, but Gwen just sighs again. 

“Yeah, you did,” she says matter-of-factly. “Again. We both know you shouldn’t have left Harry in the bloody first place…”

Ginny frowns. “That doesn’t make me feel any better…” she tells Gwen gloomily.

“Isn’t meant to,” Gwen reminds her kindly. “It’s meant to help you see sense. Ginny, you know as well as I do, your private life is hardly ever private. It’s part of the territory. A fucking bonkers part, but a part no less. And for you, it’s even doubly so. You know how insane things get with Harry’s name attached to them…”

She’s still pacing, taking in the information and processing it. Ginny had lost count of the amount of time she’d seen Gwen do this over the years, but rarely was the pacing related to her. 

“This is 100% my fault, and I want to take full responsibility.” 

Gwen grimaces. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s not true. I saw the way he was looking at you on Friday night. I don’t think it was a coincidence him being at the same bar as your Hen’s Party. I bet Harry’s going to have a bit to say if you start taking full responsibility. And if he doesn’t, then I’m going to have a few words to say _to_ him…”

No matter how dearly she loves Gwen, Ginny’s not really up for any further debate or discussion about her and Harry. She just wants to make sure Neville comes out of this whole mess — one he didn’t consent to be included in — as best he can. 

“Are you going to fire me now?” Ginny asks, trying to lighten the storm cloud look that’s on Gwen’s face. 

Gwen laughs and shakes her head. 

“Because you cheated on Neville? No. But it’s going to blow up big, Gin. It always does. Sports and scandal. The two things that sell papers now the war is over...”

“I was going to tell you. I mean, I was going to tell everyone. I still have to officially cancel the wedding…but I have to also talk to Neville about all the logistics of that...and, well, I’m terrified. I’m about to put Neville through so much pain rehashing things over and over, taking back all the things I said about Harry when we broke up. It’s hurtful. And my poor Dad is going to be horrified; my family are going to read about my sex life in the paper. Once I start telling people, it’s going to be everywhere, just like when Harry and I broke up.”

Gwen looks at Ginny curiously. Her candour is frankly surprising. Gwen had always known the truth about Harry and Ginny and their loss, but she’d found since it had happened, Ginny hadn’t been particularly forthcoming with the reality of what had happened. 

“You’re telling people about your baby?” Gwen asks softly. 

Ginny nods, her hands starting to shake so much now, she lowers the ice-pack to her lap. 

“Yes, to my family at least. I need to talk to Emmaline about a proper statement, but I want to do this right this time…”

Gwen realises what this means. What’s the point of coming clean after all this time? 

“Does this mean you and Harry are a thing again?” Gwen asks, bumping her shoulder against Ginny’s, and making her smile. “You know I like Harry.”

Ginny rolls her eyes. “Everyone likes Harry,” she says, and Gwen laughs. “I don’t know what Harry and I are yet. One step at a time.” 

“You know, he is the only man I ever considered inviting to join the team. He would have made a great Harpy,” Gwen teases. “Shame he wanted to be a bloody Auror instead…”

Harry was still an excellent player.

“You deserve Captain, Ginny, you’ve worked your arse off for over a decade to get here,” Gwen tells her. “I want you to take over this legacy. And I don’t give a fuck about a scandal. And you shouldn’t too.”

“Yeah?” Ginny asks hopefully.

“Yeah, fuck it!” Gwen says enthusiastically.

“Fuck it,” Ginny agrees with a grin.

And she feels relieved. 

Gwen claps her on the shoulder heartily. “Right, well, let’s go get a pint at The Harpy to celebrate, Captain Weasley. Freshen up and I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

# # # 

Ginny showers quickly and changes into yesterday’s jeans and jumper, fully aware that she is quickly running out of clean clothing. She needs to talk to Ron about this whole thing so he will hopefully go and get the rest of her stuff from Neville’s. But where does she take it? She can’t just turn up back at Harry’s with all her possessions, that’s far too much too soon, and going home to her parents is a nightmare. Once she’s there she’s never going to have the privacy to sort anything else, least of all with Harry. 

Gwen finds Ginny a few minutes later in the locker room staring idly at the blue bruise that is blossoming across the left elbow, and the dark circles under her eyes from days now of listless sleep. Ginny looks a right fright and couldn’t want to go to the pub less, but the thought of what they are celebrating, her promotion to Captain, her years and years of work...Ginny’s determined that her personal life falling apart and sore arm won’t deter her from taking this moment of happiness in this complete insanity. 

They chat idly about Ginny’s plans to meet with Emmaline the head of Hollyhead’s PR tomorrow as they leave the pitch and head for the stadium gates.

“....Emmaline will sort this out pronto…” Gwen tells her cheerfully, but as they exit the protection wards of the stadium, a mob of cameras, microphones and reporters appear, all jostling and shouting for Ginny the moment she emerges.

It’s not the excited shouting of seeing a player they adore; the crowd is instead loud and jostling and the atmosphere feels wired for a fight. It’s a frenzy.

“...Or not,” Gwen supplies, stopping in her tracks. 

“Shite,” Ginny breathes. “This is bad...” 

There are a few fans adorned in Harpie’s colours smattered among the surprisingly large crowd, and Ginny feels suddenly ill like she’s grappling to keep her breakfast down. The team’s security detail dressed in Holyhead green seems to have their hands full, keeping the overzealous crowd calm.

There are at least thirty reporters and photographers in this crowd...which means the whole wizarding world will know a version of events— true or not—by this evening’s news. She doesn’t have control of this. She’s never been more thankful that press were not allowed past the enchantments or security detail during non-game days. That buys her a little bit of processing time at least.

Ginny grapples for a plan but before she can discuss a getaway with Gwen, Harry emerges from the crowd, his wand drawn but idle at his side. He shouts something to Malfoy, who is standing at the front of the mob, having what Ginny surmises is a heated discussion with Astoria, her slender figure dressed in an impeccable ankle-length wool coat of deep burgundy red, with a matching beret as she gestures wildly at Draco. Her and Malfoy look like they could be on the cover of Witch Weekly with the way they are dressed, and the thought annoys Ginny for a moment as she stands in yesterday’s clothes, with dirty hair, scuffed trainers and a clean makeup-free face about the be the centre of the paparazzi photo storm. Malfoy takes his orders from Harry, and then Harry slips through the enchantments and past the detail by brandishing his ID and heads towards Ginny and Gwen. 

“Jones,” Harry greets with a wide smile like nothing at all is wrong behind him. 

“Should have known you’d be involved somehow Potter,” Gwen replies with a smile. “Are you going to help us get out of here?” 

“As best I can,” Harry says, turning to Ginny. But his smile falters and his brow knots when he sees her wide-eyed worry.

“Are you okay?”

He steps towards her but she gestures to stop. The flashes of cameras tell her the press are even recording this interaction, and Ginny feels suddenly self-conscious, her uneasy stomaching quivering with anxiety.

She nods wearily and listens for a moment to the crowd, people calling her name and shouting questions about Neville and Ginny frowns. “How did they find out?”

Harry grimaces. “Anonymous tip-off to the Prophet an hour ago. Looks like a few other publications and outlets received the same letter.”

“What? Why? Who would do this?” Ginny demands.

Harry frowns. “We don’t know Gin,” he tells her patiently, “Draco is trying to find out more and get a copy of it from Astoria...it doesn’t look like the conversation is going well though. Any reason to believe you have any enemies right now?”

“What do you think?” Gin asks him testily, her expression dumbfounded by his silly question. 

Harry shrugs apologetically. “I have to ask, Gin...it’s procedure…” 

She knows what he's inferring and it’s annoying. He glances to Gwen briefly and then back to her, asking her silently if Gwen knows and Ginny nods. 

“Neville wouldn’t do this, Harry. He hates this stuff just as much as you. He’s not spiteful…”

“Well, someone wants the whole wizarding world to know about your infidelity,” Gwen adds, and a look of disgust crosses her face. “They are more rabid than I’ve seen in a long time…”

Ginny groans, dropping her head in her hands. 

“What do they know exactly?” She asks Harry.

“Just the basics,” he tells her softly. “You cheated on Neville and now your wedding is cancelled. My name isn’t in the letters.”

He looks apologetic that he’s not been named, and it’s both a relief and infuriating. There is going to be so much damage control to this. 

“For fuck sake,” Ginny sighs heavily. “I haven’t even cancelled anything yet.”

“We’ll handle this Ginny, it’ll be okay,” Gwen tells her. 

Harry steps forward so he’s in a better position to protect her once they start walking. “We’ll get both of you home safely. You don’t have to talk to the press now, but there is no other exit but through that mob. There are fans there too, so not everyone wants a piece of you. Stay close to me, head high, and keep walking alright? No magic. Cool, calm and collected.” 

Both witches have their wands in their hands but agree with a nod to no magic. They can’t apparate until they get past the security wards which means getting past the mob of reporters. 

A wave of gratefulness washes over Ginny as Harry’s advice sinks in. She’s so glad he’s here with her right now. 

“Great plan, and we’ll get Emmaline on it as soon as we get clear,” Gwen tells them brightly.

But Ginny still looks terrified.

“It’s going to be okay, Gin,” Harry reassures her again, his warm hand pressing protectively at the small of her back. “Are you ready?” 

“Yes,” she agrees, exhaling deeply. She grabs the sleeve of Gwen’s jacket and the three of them move together towards the crowd, Ginny and Gwen huddled together and Harry protectively shuffling them along until they reach the barrier of enchantments and wards. Once they step through the sound is deafening.

It’s not unfamiliar territory for Ginny, but the jostling to get pictures of her, and barking of questions about her personal life is overwhelming. It’s not the same when she’s happy and confident after winning a match. This is hell. She finds herself pressed closer to Harry in the jostling than she expected, and his warmth and kindness for her, and calmness for the situation as he pulls them slowly through the large crowd is so comfortingly, she finds herself letting go of Gwen, who’s now crowding in on the other side to protect Ginny like a cocoon on the left, and grasping at Harry’s jacket.

One booming and bolshy voice Ginny recognises as Gabe Tennyson the Senior Quidditch Reporter from The Daily Prophet is incessant and Ginny realises that he’s standing right in front of her, hurling questions, his camera flash starting to blind her as it pops every few moments. 

Harry adjusts his hold on Ginny and she’s pretty sure any photos the press are getting of her pressed up against him are only going to make this whole situation worse. But at the same time, if this had been her and Gwen, Gwen would have lost her cool by now and this would have turned into a duel. Strangely enough, the Auror presence has calmed things, not escalated them. 

“Alright mate, how about you back off and let them through,” Harry says loudly and threateningly to Tennyson hoping to get some space from the way he’s got his damn camera shoved in Ginny’s face, but Tennyson is only encouraged by the threat and rounds on Harry.

“What are you here for, Potter? This is a bit below your paygrade, isn’t it? Playing security detail for your ex? Is he your piece on the side, Weasley? Do you just tart it up for war heroes or what?”

“Oi! Bang out of order mate!” Gwen calls angrily, pushing forward towards Tennyson. 

Ginny feels her anger flare. Tennyson has just called her a tart in front of the entire crowd. And, fuck him, she fought in the war too.

But Tennyson doesn’t get to finish the next sentence, because Harry’s stepped in front of Ginny, one arm outstretched to hold Gwen back, and his face is menacing.

“Hey, _enough_. Back off. You know better, Tennyson. If you want an interview, get in contact with the media team and they’ll set something up…”

Tennyson, a veteran reporter, fifty-something, round, short and loud doesn’t care for an Auror, Head Auror and Harry Potter notwithstanding, telling him what to do. He also doesn’t care for losing scoops no matter how gossipy they are. 

“And get some bullshit spin story?” He fires back at Harry, who by all accounts is a foot and a half taller than him. “Going to let your boyfriend here fight your battles for you, Weasley?” Tennyson throws her way, getting up in her face. “Need a big strong Auror to protect you do you? Is that why you cheated on Longbottom? Boring sad Hogwarts Teacher—“

“Hey, I said…” Harry says firmly, this time giving Tennyson a small but firm push backwards, Harry making it clear to the reporter he is too close to Ginny, “back off.” 

He refuses to use his wand, knowing to do so adds a whole complication to this situation. People panic when Auror’s draw their wands, and Harry’s not about to incite panic and escalate this situation further. It’s already out of control in his opinion, and the risks of something stupid happening as reporters jostle for picture and sound bites increases exponentially every second. 

“Fuck off, Potter!” Tennyson tells him lunging back towards them, his camera shoved in Ginny’s face as he grabs hard and fiercely at her sore arm, and Ginny instinctively raises her wand. 

“Ginny…” Harry warns because he’d said no magic, but he’s too late. 

She’s already whispered the incantation and Tennyson is already on the ground in front of her, making horrific choking noises as large bogey bats fly out of his nose.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters darkly, and the reporters and cameras around him close in trying to capture the aftermath. 

# # # 

Ron’s on his third round of ham and cheese sandwiches, when he realises his lovely beautiful wife sitting in front of him, looking at him, is not listening to one word he’s saying. Her eyes are slightly unfocused, and she’s just spearing pieces of vegetables from her veggie salad onto her fork absentmindedly but has barely eaten any of her lunch.

“And then,” Ron says, changing tact, his voice slightly louder than he’s been using before to tell her about his morning with Rosie at swimming lessons, “I decided, to hell with it, why not sell the shop and move to Spain? You’d be happy to start a new life there with Rosie, right? We could buy a little place in San Sebastián by the water, run tour groups for Muggles...”

“What?” Hermione looks at him blankly for a moment, her brain processing the change of topic and then she narrows her eyes at him playfully. “You're teasing me.”

“A little,” he grins, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand tenderly. 

“Sorry, I’m distracted,” she admits with a self-deprecating smile. “Lots going on right now with work…”

 _And Ginny and Harry…_ she worries.

“Anything you want to talk about?” Ron asks. “I’m all ears and very discrete. I used to have one the highest security clearances in the Ministry once upon a time…”

Hermione laughs, and it's a beautiful sound Ron vows is one of his absolute favourites to hear. 

“No, it’s fine honestly. Tell me again about Rosie’s lesson...I honestly promise to—“ Hermione stops abruptly as Draco steps into the Ministry cafe, looking around for her. 

“Draco!” She calls, surprising Ron, who had not been expecting his childhood nemesis turned Harry’s protégée to arrive at lunch with his wife. 

Draco weaves between the tables towards them, his face schooled in a serious look.

“Twice in one day Malfoy, always a pleasure,” Ron greets, trying to be as friendly as possible. 

“Weasley,” Draco returns cordially with a nod. 

“Granger-Weasley, mate,” Ron corrects with a smile and Draco grins, completely amused. 

“Right,” he deadpans but doesn’t correct himself. 

“Did it all go okay?” Hermione asks, but Draco shakes his head, still grinning. 

“Not exactly. Ginny’s at the DMLE. She hexed a reporter.” 

“What?! Why?!” Ron exclaims, but neither Hermione nor Draco explains. 

“Please tell me Harry wasn’t involved,” Hermione groans with a heavy sigh, getting to her feet. She rummages in the pocket of her blazer for some money, dropping a few coins onto the table which magically disappear as her bill is paid. 

“He’s not,” Draco assured her, “But the reporter was lucky Harry didn’t give him a bollocking. He was focusing so hard on being restrained I thought the vein in Harry’s temple was going to pop.” 

Hermione tuts, thankful she didn’t have the Head Auror duelling or punching reporters to deal with. 

Hermione and Draco glance down at Ron, who is still seated, munching on his sandwich and looking wide-eyed at both of them over the unfolding conversation. 

“Come on, Ron, honestly,” Hermione says impatiently, gesturing for him to get up. “We’ve got to get back upstairs and see Ginny.”

“I’m still eating my sandwich…” Ron grumbles, with a mouthful of ham. “Besides, if Harry was there I’m sure Ginny’s fine…”

“Ron, for Merlin’s sake!” Hermione snaps, not having a bar of Ron’s preference for lunch right now. “Get up and bring your bloody sandwich with you!” 

# # # 

Harry appears at the small window in the interview room door, knocking gently before stepping inside with a cardboard wrapped sandwich and black tea for Ginny, the warm drink steeped just the way she likes it. He places the care parcel of food down on the table with a reassuring smile and sits down across from her at the small wood laminate table.

Ginny smiles at him gratefully and reaches for the tea, her arm still tender from this morning's training and her throat dry. 

“How much trouble am I in, exactly?” She asks before she takes a sip, and her voice is both a mixture of mortification and pride, and it makes Harry smile proudly back at her. 

“We’ll sort it out,” he tells her reassuringly, and she nods, reaching for the sandwich. 

She’s starving and a bit nauseous at the same time; she’d expended too much energy on the pitch this morning and is now hours past eating. 

Instead of opening it though, she plays with the packaging, trying to not focus on the intense look he’s giving her. It’s magnetic and even though she desperately wants to see the reassurance in those deep green eyes, it’s a slippery slope into the whole host of feelings she’s trying to pointedly not get swept away in.

“I didn’t mean to get you into trouble…” Ginny admits. 

Her reaction towards Tennyson makes it look bad for Harry. Aurors’ had strict rules on using magic in the field.

“You haven’t,” Harry says, his mouth twitching to suppress a full smile. He had warned her to not use magic, but he’d be lying if he wasn’t a little bit satisfied watching Tennyson get what he deserved after his appalling behaviour. “Stubbs is handling Tennyson’s complaint, I’m just here to make sure things go smoothly.”

“I should have kept my cool. It wasn’t smart hexing the Senior Quidditch Reporter who’s going to write a story about me. He holds a grudge too.” 

“Tennyson deserved it,” Harry says with a shrug. “And if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll rescind his complaint. He grabbed at you _first_...” 

“And he called me a tart,” Ginny adds distastefully. “And didn’t bother to acknowledge I too fought in the bloody war.”

Harry gives her a look that says that insinuation and ignorance from Tennyson was certainly not okay. “I know. I heard,” he says darkly. “I honestly wanted to give him a bollocking myself for that.”

Ginny sips at her tea and considers Harry carefully. She traces the seam of the paper cup he’s brought her tea in. 

“Do _you_ think he was right?” She asks softly, eyes on the tea, and Harry looks back at her with utter bewilderment. “Am I a tart?”

Harry leans closer, his forearms stretched out across the table, the back of his knuckles brushing gently against the back of her hand holding her tea. “No, Gin, I don’t. You have nothing to be ashamed of. If you hadn’t hexed him, I would have.” 

She smiles and takes a sip of her tea.

“No, you wouldn’t have. You're much calmer, more thoughtful in a crisis. That’s the difference between us. I’ve always been hotter-headed. If he was a real danger to me, you would have had him handled in an instant. I’ve only made this shit situation even worse.” 

Ginny sighs heavily expelling what feels like a month worth of stale anxious air from her lungs. The way he’s looking at her is making her feel both relieved and nervous; their conversation last night has changed the whole atmosphere, changed the way they moved around each other.

“You’re not being fair on yourself, and you know it,” he reminds her. “Your private life is exactly that, _private_. You don’t owe the media anything.” 

Ginny purses her lips; deeply frustrated that his defence of her reminds her how much she’d enjoyed his protective hand on the small of her back earlier. How her breath had caught as his knuckles brushed her skin. He keeps touching her and it’s going to drive her insane. 

_Get a grip, Weasley!_ She scolds herself. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, brow knotting. 

“I don’t know,” Ginny admits blowing out a long slow breath. “It’s been a complicated few days. I feel like I’m falling...like I’ve been standing on a trap door and it’s caved in and I’m not sure where I’m going to land at the bottom. In water? On rocks? On soft grass? Fiery pits of doom?” She rolls her eyes at her hyperbole. “And I hate it. I always have a plan. And right now, my plan is held together with a shitty sticking charm moments away from failing.” 

Harry’s not sure what to say. He can’t figure out how he’s meant to react in this situation. He wishes he’d been able to step in more, protect her more, but he’s also fiercely aware that Ginny’s never really needed his protection from real things. She might’ve needed him to calmly navigate a mob of reporters, but she’s fierce when it comes to physically and emotionally defending herself. Pulling his wand on Tennyson would have been for his peace of mind, not hers. She’d done well enough on her own and always had. 

However, he’d also admittedly enjoyed the way she’d held onto him, her fingers clutching at his jacket lapel. He was doing very badly at keeping her at arm’s length after their conversation last night and he knew it. He was meant to be handling this smartly, protecting himself. But he couldn’t care less. He wanted her more than ever and it was fucking frustrating.

“It’s been an awful long time since I’ve seen you use that curse,” Harry says, directing her away from berating herself any further. “I’d forgotten how phenomenal it was watching you hex someone. Haven’t seen you use that one since Ron, Christmas 2005...” 

“Don’t,” she warns with a playful grin.

“What?” He asks innocently, smiling.

_Is he flirting with her? Merlin...he’s flirting with her…_

“Don’t make me feel better,” she tells him, rolling her eyes again, but she realises she wants him to make her feel better. She wants him to make this easier. She wants him to forgive her. 

Harry laughs. “Don’t tell _me_ what to do in my interview room,” he counters with an arched eyebrow, teasing her.

She grins. “So you _are_ playing the Head Auror card?” She asks, and he shakes his head, hand pressed to his chest. 

“I would never abuse my power.” 

She laughs. “Oh, yeah? Where did the tea and sandwiches come from then?” 

Harry grins. “That’s my lunch,” he tells her, and she knows it’s a lie. 

“This is your lunch? This milky tea with two sugars is your lunch?” She clarified with a raised eyebrow. “You’ve never taken sugar in your tea, _ever_.” 

“Not true,” he counters, not even trying to suppress a smile, “I used to take sugar in my tea all the time in Divination. Was the only way I could stomach Trelawney’s ridiculous predictions.” 

They laugh and Ginny raises a palm conceding. “Well, thank you for sharing your lunch. And…” she pauses, and Harry knows their banter is over because her face becomes more serious, more worried again. “...thank you for being there at Holyhead. I’m sorry you got caught up in this because of me. It had to be Neville who tipped them off, I’m just having a hard time reconciling that. It seems so unlike him.”

Harry holds her gaze. He’s not going to throw stones at Neville. He has no right to really, all things considering. However, Harry’s not convinced this tip-off came from Neville. For one, only Ginny’s indiscretion is revealed. Surely if Neville wanted revenge (which already seemed unNeville-like) he’d cause more of a scandal naming Harry as well? Harry’s gut feeling was the letter had been sent by someone who didn’t know— or didn’t want— Harry to be involved. 

“Ginny, I was complicit to what happened between us. You didn’t do this to me. I did it _with_ you. I slept with you willingly knowing you were engaged to someone else. And I have to live with that too. I should have fought for us the other night when you wanted to talk it through, but I didn’t want to face the truth, I had you there beside me and that’s all that mattered at the time...” 

There is a knock on the door and both of them look away from each other briefly, Draco’s face appearing through the window. Harry gestures for Draco to enter. 

“Boss, Stubbs wants to see you,” Draco says matter-of-factly, popping his head in, and then closing the door again with a small smile Ginny’s way.

He does give Harry a pointed look through the glass with an arched amused eyebrow that Harry chooses to ignore.

“I’ll be right back,” Harry says with a reassuring smile, getting to his feet and buttoning his jacket. “You’re very welcome to the sandwich but all they had left was egg...”

Egg was her least favourite sandwich filling, and they both knew it.

“I’m not that hungry,” Ginny laughs, and Harry chuckles as he leaves, pulling the door closed quickly as he exits.

Stubbs is waiting for him in the hallway, chatting with Draco who turns towards Harry as the door clicks closed. He gestures indicating he’ll meet him upstairs, and Harry nods. 

Draco’s about to go into round two of trying to talk Astoria into giving up her source. It had been Draco’s idea and Harry was grateful.

“Bevan,” Harry says, stepping towards the Sargent and shaking his hand cordially. 

Stubbs has worked at the Ministry almost as long as Harry, and over the years they’ve had several cases together. Stubbs also happens to be the Hit Wizard Team Leader involved in the Lestrange / St Mungo’s case, which Harry surmises may have been the reason he’d seen Draco here. 

“Sir,” Stubbs greets and then in a sign of respect for the Head Auror, he removes his uniform hat. “For what it’s worth Harry, I’m only looping you in because you were there, I’m not running my decision by you for approval.” 

“Go ahead.” 

Stubbs sighs. “Frankly, Tennyson’s a menace, and Ms Weasley’s not the first to hex him. I’ve wanted to hex him myself the number of times I’ve had to haul him in here for pissing people off. There are a dozen witnesses that say you warned him twice to back off before he grabbed Ms Weasley. And that doesn’t sit right with me. I’m letting Ms Weasley off with a caution, no need to escalate it further.” Stubbs smiles. “I’m not going to lie, that Bat Bogey Hex was the best I’ve ever seen. And I haven’t seen one of those since I was at Hogwarts. Ms Weasley gets points for originality. Took fifteen minutes for the spell reversal team to reverse the hex.” 

Harry tries to stop his lips from twitching into a satisfactory smirk that Tennyson had been plagued by bat-shaped bogeys for fifteen solid minutes. “And Tennyson?” 

“Jones’ been in my face arguing that her players should be able to leave their locker room without a reporter assaulting them, and she’s right. This is the fourth player he’s harassed for a ‘scoop’. He had a scuffle with Degraves at Montrose last year and Degraves not only hexed him but punched him square in the nose. I’m going to suggest Greengrass redeploys Tennyson to another beat. No one wants to make an enemy out of Gwenog Jones. Least of all me. I’m a Holyhead Member.”

“Thank you,” Harry breathes, exhaling deeply in relief.

He hadn’t realised he’d been worried for Ginny, and he supposes it's more to do with the fallout in the press than the fallout with the Ministry.

Stubbs beams. “Tell Ms Weasley she can thank me with a Holyhead win tomorrow. And an autograph for my son Tristan?” He adds hopefully. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Harry smiles, knowing an autograph in the middle of this insanity will make Ginny’s day. 

# # # 

It’s another ten minutes before Ginny’s allowed to go, and in that time, what little energy she’d got left in her body, what little adrenaline it’s now running on, is depleted. It’s only two in the afternoon and it feels like she’d been awake for days. 

Ginny signs a Holyhead poster for Tristan Stubbs with an acid green self-inking quill at Harry’s request and Bevan Stubbs’ chortling excitement, and then with a beaming smile, Stubbs announces she’s free to go, with no charges proceeding to the Wizengamot. It was unlikely in the first place, but a relief all the same. 

Ginny lets Harry lead her away from the dark corridors of interview rooms and holding cells in the depths of the Ministry and towards the elevators for the upper levels.

“I’m dying for a soak in the bathtub,” Ginny groans stiffly, stretching her neck, as Harry calls the elevator and he gives her a reluctant smile. 

“We have to make a stop upstairs before you go. There is a crowd waiting for you in my office, I’m afraid.” 

Ginny groans so loudly Harry’s only response is to chuckle. She can only assume it’s at least Hermione and possibly her Dad as they work in the building, and then she stops abruptly as the elevator arrives and doors open revealing four young fresh-faced first-year Trainee Aurors dressed in Academy robes. They all go wide-eyed in seeing Harry, and he flashes them a beaming authoritarian smile as he steps in. 

“Good Afternoon Aurors, I believe you all recognise Miss Weasley from the Holyhead Harpies,” he says motioning for Ginny to step in beside him. “Ginny, this is Stafford, Robinson, Lee and Winters.” 

The looks on their faces say they very much do recognise one of the most famous witches in the league. 

The fact he refers to her as _Miss_ Weasley is not lost on Ginny.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” the closest boy, Stafford, brown-haired, tall, no more than 19, tells her his voice breaking a little. 

“Hi,” Ginny says, giving them a small awkward wave, and drops her head down, trying to cover her tired face with her long hair. 

Frankly, she’s had enough people gawking at her for one day. But Ginny also knows Harry’s enjoying this a little, her nervous squirming when she’s rarely nervous, and it only makes her blush more.

“Who's running your session this afternoon, Stafford?” Harry says like it’s completely normal for him to get in a lift with a famous Quidditch Player who also famously happens to be his ex-girlfriend at 2 pm on a Tuesday. 

“Atkinson, Sir,” Stafford replies, clearly delighted Harry remembers his name. “We’re doing defensive hex training in the duelling gym.” 

“Wonderful,” Harry replies, “it’s a nice afternoon for it.” 

Ginny snorts and then coughs, trying to cover the sound. Harry grins in reply as they watch the floors climb by, and for a second, just a second, she feels his fingertips once again gently, discreetly, skate across the back of her hand at their sides. She looks at him, but he’s looking straight ahead as if the movement could have happened by accident within the confines of a crowded elevator, and Ginny’s heart races. 

When the doors open at the Auror Office level, the juniors shuffle out around them quickly, jostling Harry and Ginny closer together. 

“Good luck with defence training. I look forward to Atkinson’s report,” Harry tells them. 

“Thank you, Sir,” Stafford says with a broad smile before he jogs off after the others. 

“You‘ve never let it go to your head have you?” Ginny remarks, and Harry shrugs turning towards her as they stop in a quiet area of the corridor. He’s incredibly close and this pull is getting hard and harder to withstand; for both of them. “The power? Fame? The success? You risked your reputation today to help me. You learn the names of every recruit and every person in your department so they feel seen by the most powerful wizard in our world…you’re a good man Harry. You really are.”

Harry chuckles self-deprecating. Technically, by the position of power, Kingsley was the most powerful wizard in their world. 

“Don’t let Kingsley hear you say that…”

“He’d agree with me,” she implores.

“Maybe,” Harry agrees with a shrug and a smile.

Kingsley did have more faith in Harry sometimes than Harry had in himself. And Kingsley had tried for years to get Harry to work in the Minister’s Office with the hopes of one day having Harry succeed him, all offers Harry had refused. He had no desire to be Minister of Magic. None at all.

“You’re not a risk, Gin. Not to me,” Harry tells her earnestly, and Ginny wishes she could just hug him. 

The touch in the interview room had been comforting. The touch in the elevator had been deliberate. But they had so many other fires to put out before they stoked that flame between them. A silent agreement passes between them. Soon. But not now.

“What am I walking into? In your office?” Ginny asks softly. 

“Ron, Hermione and your Dad I think... though Arthur did have a meeting to go to. We might have missed him. Possibly Draco too. I’m waiting for an update about the source from him. Ron and your Dad don’t know anything. I thought that was your call.”

The fact Hermione knew but hadn’t said anything directly to Ginny makes her stomach bubble with anxiety again. Poor Hermione, always trapped in the middle of everything. 

“If things were different, if the whole world wasn’t about to find out, I’d do this differently,” Ginny reveals, and for a moment, she chews at her bottom lip worriedly.

“I know,” Harry assures her. “This has moved things along a bit.”

Ginny blows out a long breath, and she briefly considers just how simple but incredibly mortifying it would be to call a Weasley family meeting with all of her brothers and their wives. “I have to talk to Mum and Dad before they read it in the papers.”

“I can talk to Ron?” Harry suggests, sensing the rounds and rounds of conversation admitting fault and guilt is making Ginny feel even more anxious about their current situation. “I think it’s probably long overdue.”

“Yeah?” Ginny asks in surprise, knowing that keeping the particulars of their breakup from Ron had been a big part in Harry’s withdrawal from his close friendship with Ron. 

“Yeah, If that’s okay?” 

Ginny nods, a sense of relief washing over her. 

“Yes, thank you. I think he’d like to hear it directly from you…”

Harry knows Ron’s reaction has always terrified her the most; he’s her favourite brother, her biggest and proudest fan...and she never wanted him to pity her, or be disappointed in her. And this secret was likely to open up both of those fears. 

“Do you know why I make the effort to learn everyone’s name? Ron told me once, early days at the Academy, that people tend to respond to me better the more familiar they feel. That learning their name, because they already know mine, helps make me more approachable. I’ve never forgotten it.” 

Ginny grins. “That’s excellent advice actually, you sure it came from Ron?” She teases, and they are standing close enough now that she wishes he wanted to touch her hand again.

“Best advice he’s ever given me, If I’m honest,” Harry says playfully. “Rest of what he says is usually rubbish. Especially the part about moving on and dating other witches when I was seventeen...” 

Ginny laughs, and she notices that Harry’s eyes drop to her lips before his eyes flicker back to hers. 

“Thank you for today,” she says softly. “And last night, and I guess just generally not telling me to leave when I turned up on your doorstep unannounced.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, Gin,” he tells her earnestly. He clears his throat and gestures towards the corridor leading to his office. “Shall we?” 

The Auror’s Office has barely changed since she was last here, Harry’s office the same large glass-walled one by the entry. Her family spot her, getting to their feet as Harry and Ginny approach the office. 

“It’ll be okay,” he reassures her and he gives him a look that says she desperately hopes so. 

But then Ginny realises, the third person in Harry’s office with Ron and Hermione with his back to the door isn’t her Dad, or Draco...it’s…

“Neville,” Harry says, stopping short, and Ginny does too. 

They are only a few feet from the closed door, and Ginny considers for one dreaded moment that this is all about to come to a head in a very public and humiliating way. A more public and humiliating way right here in front of Harry’s whole department.

“Boss,” Draco calls appearing behind them, and Harry lets out an involuntary sigh of relief. He does not want anything unfolding very openly in his office. As it is some of his Aurors are doing a terrible job at hiding the fact they are watching and listening, which is worrying for several reasons. “Can I have a word?”

Harry turns slowly, his eyes locked on Ginny, which are wide and worried and apologetic. She stuffs her shaking hands into the back pocket of her jeans. And Harry just wants to hold her. 

“What have you got?” Harry asks Draco. 

“It wasn’t Longbottom. He’s not the source.”

Ginny sighs loudly and worriedly presses her shaking hand to her forehead. _Fuck. Who else knows?!_

“Who is then?” Harry asks and Draco grimaces. 

“I’m still working on that with Astoria,” Draco admits with a grimace. “I’m going to need more time.”

Harry nods. “Good work Draco, thank you.”

“Harry…” Ginny begins to apologise in advance for the fallout to come, but he shakes his head. 

“I’ll talk to Ron,” he reminds her. “You talk to Neville.”

“Okay,” she agrees, still a little dumbfounded, but she’s got to pull herself together. She tries to smile back at him confidently, but they both know it’s in vain.

From inside Harry’s office, Ron notices them loitering in the hall and opens the office door, stepping out into the open-plan space. 

“Here she is, our little criminal,” Ron greets cheerfully, Hermione and Neville filing out behind him. “When do you leave for Azkaban?”

Ginny grins back at Ron, who had earned himself a rude hand gesture as she approaches.

“Shut it you, or I’ll hex you next,” Ginny says, rolling her eyes, but she’s actually thankful that Ron’s ribbing has turned her smile into a genuine one. “You’ve got good nostrils for it.”

Draco and Ron laugh, but Hermione and Neville look less than impressed.

“You’re so lucky Harry and Draco were there,” Ron notes, with a wave to Harry and Draco who are standing as inconspicuously to the side as possible. “Trust my famous baby sister to need two Auror’s at her side to protect the public.” 

“Haha,” Ginny replies, playfully punching Ron in the arm. 

“Are you alright?” Neville asks Ginny. 

He’s keeping his distance, but his concern for her is genuine. 

And Ginny realised Neville really wasn’t the one who wrote the letter. He didn’t want to blow up their private life any more than she did. The source really was someone else. But who…?!

Ginny nods in reply.

“I’m fine,” Ginny tells him with a small smile. “How did you know I was here?” 

Ginny catches Hermione’s eye, and she shakes her head discreetly indicating that Hermione didn’t contact Neville. Hermione then glances at Ron out of the corner of her eye, who’s watching everyone with his normal cheerful smile, and she shakes her head again. Ron doesn’t know anything. 

“Stubbs contacted me when they brought you in, he said you hexed Gabe Tennyson.” Neville’s brow knits and he draws his shoulders back, and Ginny assumes that Neville’s made eye contact with Harry over her shoulder. “I’m your emergency contact...”

The silent word _still_ isn’t lost on either of them.

Harry might be appearing to be talking to Draco, but he’s also listening closely to everything unfolding, without being directly involved. Ginny feels like she’s stuck in the middle of the complicated breakup between the man she was meant to marry and the man she cheated on him with, and it’s awful. 

“Ginny, have you lost your mind?” Neville asks with frustration. 

“Maybe a little,” Ginny admits, her tone slightly self-deprecating in a way Harry finds uncomfortable and unfounded. 

This isn’t Ginny’s fault.

He steps past Draco, who mutters a warning, “Boss...” under his breath, but his attempt is futile, and Draco acquiesces, taking a couple of steps out of the fray.

“She was defending herself,” Harry says matter-of-factly, drawing everyone’s attention his way. “Tennyson grabbed her. She hexed him back. Charges against her have been dropped.” 

Hermione steps closer to Ginny, brow furrowed in worry.

“Ginny, are you okay?” She asks, wrapping her in a hug. 

“I’m fine,” Ginny assured her, hugging her back tightly. 

She _really_ needed that hug.

“Tennyson’s a right wanker,” Ron chimes in nonchalantly. “Always has been, always will be...don’t worry about it Gin...”

But he’s cut off by Neville who asks, “Why did Tennyson grab you? Stubbs said the crowd was rowdy and out of control. Full of Press—“

“Can I please borrow your office to talk to Neville privately?” Ginny asks Harry, cutting Neville off, and Harry nods. 

“Of course you can,” he says, making eye contact with Neville. 

The moment is tense, fraught with resentment and then Neville looks away. 

Harry gestures to the door accommodatingly. “Take as long as you need…” 

Ginny gives Harry one last fleeting look before she steps inside. 

“You’re an arsehole...” Neville mutters under his breath to Harry as he walks past, and it takes more effort than Harry’s willing to admit to ignore it. 

Neville is entitled to his anger, Harry reminds himself, but it doesn’t make it any easier. 

Once the door to the office is closed, Harry sighs and turns back to Hermione and Ron, and finds Ron looking at him very curiously. 

“What am I missing?” Ron asks Harry point-blank. “What’s going on?”

Harry said he’d tell Ron. Now was the time.

“Ron, mate, got any plans for your afternoon?” Harry asks. “I could do with lunch and a pint if I'm being honest. Leaky Cauldron?”

Ron grins. Admittedly when they were partners in the earlier years they did spend the odd afternoon at the pub working through their hunches on cases. 

“Sounds great,” Ron agrees. “‘Mione? Interested in skiving off too?”

Hermione smiles and shakes her head. “You two go, I’ll hold the fort.”

“Thank you,” Harry tells her and she nods humbly.

“How about you Malfoy?” Ron asks, and Draco has the decency to look surprised. 

“I’m working on a case,” he says, “but thanks.” 

“See you later then,” Ron says cheerfully, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s cheek tenderly. “Right Potter, it’s your shout and you have to tell me _everything_.” 

Harry nods, acquiescing with a small smile. “Right, everything…” he echoes making eye contact with Hermione who’s giving him a nervous look.

_Fuck, this is going to be interesting._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ron have a very important (and long overdue) discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Bit of a departure this chapter -- just one scene. But it's insanely long. Thank you so much for all your support for this story. Still lots to come. I just was very desperate to get a new chapter out x

  
  


7: I COULD LIE, SAY I LIKE IT LIKE THAT, LIKE IT LIKE THAT

T U E S D A Y.

“It’s been far too long since we did this,” Ron says with relief after the first mouthful of his pint, the foam leaving a thin line of foam on his upper lip. Ron wipes it away on the sleeve of his jumper with a sense of pure satisfaction that makes both he and Harry chuckle. 

It has indeed been a long time between drinks. The last time he and Ron had a pint together had been during the Summer when he’d just started seeing Cho, and they’d had a beer together to commiserate Teddy going back to Hogwarts. 

There was a lot of ground to cover this time around, and Harry was keenly aware that he was pretty much ambushing Ron with a lot. He hadn’t wanted Ginny to shoulder the large burden she was struggling under alone, but he honestly had no idea how to bridge this gap with Ron lying about it for so long. 

It’s mid-afternoon and The Leaky Cauldron is largely empty, much to Harry’s relief given the already unpredictable day. They had sought out their old favourite table by a far back window near the Diagon Alley entry, had ordered two pints of Dragon Keeper Ale, a Steak and Kidney pie and chips for Harry, and second lunch for Ron including a bag of crisps and a pumpkin pastie.

“That’s probably my fault,” Harry says earnestly with a smile having finished his pie and piling his cutlery onto the plate. “I’ve been flat out for weeks.” 

Ron laughs heartily, a knowing smile crossing his face as Harry takes a swig of his beer. 

“You’ve been busy since you were eleven. Hardly an excuse anymore is it?” He teases, eyebrows raised.

“No, I guess not,” Harry laughs humbly.

“You know you work far too much, right? You and Hermione both do. You were much better at the whole work/life balance thing when Gin was around. And I’m being generous there because even then you were a workaholic. It’s ramped up a bit though since I left the Ministry though. I’m not having a go mate,” Ron says with a kind smile, “it’d just be nice to see you at Family dinner more regularly than the odd birthday is all.”

Ron himself had spent eight long years at the Ministry, and a further eighteen months since his recovery working long hours at WWW, but he had always found a way to switch off, something he teases Hermione and Harry mercilessly of not being able to do. 

Harry nods graciously, knowing Ron is right. He did work too much. And used it as an excuse too often. 

“That might be true,” Harry concedes. “And Hermione aside, because well, she’s Hermione,” Ron laughs at Harry’s simplified explanation of his overachieving wife, “But, it’s easier when you have someone in your life and a family to come home to. I have time to work all the hours I want...” 

Ron scoffs. “What happened to Cho?” 

Harry smiles. “She’s still alive,” Harry says pointedly, making Ron roll his eyes. “But it didn’t work out. She said I didn’t act very keen. She didn’t feel I was overly interested in her…”

“Were you interested in her?” 

Harry grimaces. “It just kind of happened, if I’m being honest. She was so great with Teddy and we had dinner a few times…”

“And a few sleepovers…” Ron says bluntly, and Harry chooses to ignore the comment given he’s not about to talk about sleeping with Cho and admit to an affair with Ginny in the same conversation. 

“She’s lovely...but, I think I would have just wasted her time.” 

Ron rolls his eyes and takes a swig out of his beer. 

“What?” Harry asks tentatively, not really knowing if he wants to know what Ron’s thinking. 

“You realise that unless you stop trying to replace Ginny, with a Ginny substitute, you’re never going to actually move on right? You need to be more open-minded. Women approach you a lot…”

Harry rolls his eyes this time. “You sound like Draco...I don’t want a Ginny substitute...and I don’t want to just sleep with every witch that approaches me either. I don’t have time for that hero-worship bollocks, and I never have. Can we talk about anything other than this…?” 

Ron grins knowingly and Harry sighs. “Sure,” he agrees. “Mum’s been harassing me every single day about your RSVP for Saturday…”

Harry frowns. This was not the conversation direction change he was hoping for. “Mate, we both know I wasn’t invited to the wedding…”

“Well given you just saved Ginny’s arse today I’m pretty sure it’s a moot point. You have to come, if you don’t, you know you're going to have to deal with the wrath of Molly Weasley. If that’s something you want to bear—”

“The truth is, family events haven’t been the same since Ginny and I split,” Harry admits, and Ron looks a little surprised that Harry’s acknowledged it so easily. “And It’s been hard to find a place in the family since Neville and Ginny got engaged. I’m not a true Weasley brother, and I’m no longer a future son-in-law. Neville and Ginny needed space without me there.”

Ron makes a face that gives Harry the distinct impression he thinks he’s being an idiot. There has always been enough room in the Weasley family for him and always would be.

“Pretty sure you’re just as much a Weasley as the rest of us mate, even if you and Gin aren’t together. And I know I’m not the first to tell you that, just the others don’t know you quite as well as I do... it takes a while to get it through that thick skull of yours doesn’t it? Have to keep repeating it over and over and over. Think it’s all the head injuries you’ve had over the years saving the bloody world…” Ron teases and Harry chuckles. 

“Alright, alright…” Harry concedes with a good-natured laugh, lifting his beer to clink with Ron’s as a toast. “I’ve been shite. I’ll make more of an effort moving forward.” 

“So, you’ll make more of an effort and come to the wedding on Saturday then?” Ron asks hopefully.

Harry blows out of a long exasperated breath and shakes his head, grimacing a little at having to break to the toast so quickly. This is not the best approach, Harry knows it, but he’s got to wait for the right opening. 

Ron grimaces annoyed that his sister and best friend still can’t figure this out 2 years later. 

“Listen, we both know Ginny’s been an idiot about the whole invitation thing. It doesn’t make any sense not to have you there...”

“It makes perfect sense,” Harry counters, “I’m her ex. The fact Hannah is going surprises me.” 

Ron rolls his eyes and begins listing reasons on his fingers why that’s stupid. 

“Come on, that ex excuse doesn’t really fly, does it? You broke up two years ago, you’ve sold the house so have nothing left to argue about, and, as far as exes go, Hannah is going because her and Neville are still friends. Plus, Teddy and Andy will be there...I was going to suggest you bring Cho but now that’s over…” Ron bargains.

“Ugh,” Harry groans. Ron’s got him cornered.

But Ron continues with an earnest smile. 

“Look, okay, fine, I get it about Saturday. It’s complicated. And, even though Gin’s being an idiot about the whole wedding thing, she was really lucky to still have you looking out for her today. Thank you for what you did. Have to admit though, it was a bit icy between Neville and her. I think it’s just sinking in that on Saturday, they’ll finally be married. Do you remember the week Hermione and I got married?” Ron grins. “We bickered constantly the week before. And had that huge row the morning of over Baby’s Breath? Weddings bring out the worst in people as there is so much pressure.”

The row between Ron and Hermione was legendary in the Weasley family. Harry had witnessed it, standing dumbfounded in the kitchen while his two best friends –– and ironically Ginny stuck in the middle –– screamed bloody murder at each other over the amount of Baby’s Breath to go in the table arrangements. The sheer insanity of how the Weasley house descended into madness every time one of their children got married had been enough to scare Harry out of proposing. It had been a long-standing joke between him and Ginny that Baby’s Breath had no place in any flower arrangements in their house for as long as they lived.

Harry tries to keep some neutrality in his tone when he asks: “Have you heard from Neville over the past couple of days?” 

Ron shakes his head. 

“No? But, he’s been busy with Hannah’s Dad’s funeral this week. Did Gin tell you Han’s Dad died on the weekend? I’m surprised Stubbs tracked him down so quickly, to be honest. He looked absolutely miserable. Horrible thing to have a funeral and wedding in the same week, poor bloke.” 

Harry feels a bit crestfallen. He’s actually had a funeral and a breakup, which is by all accounts, a little bit worse.  _ Okay. Here he goes... _

“It’s just…” Harry clears his croaky throat and pauses, conjuring a curious look on Ron’s face. “Neville broke off the engagement last night. That’s the reason the press was hounding Ginny at Holyhead. That’s why things were icy between them just now. They’ve actually split up...”

Ron’s mouth drops open. 

“How do  _ you _ know that? I’m the bloody best man...” Ron asks incredulously.

Harry frowns, as his gaze meets Ron’s slightly wide eyes. It’s like Ron connects the dots in the very same moment Harry opens his mouth.

“Because Ginny and I slept together. And that’s why Neville broke up with her.”

There is a long beat of silence between them, Ron’s gaze fixed on Harry’s calculatingly. He goes to speak twice, and twice promptly shuts his mouth as he continues trying to process the revelation.  
  
This is only the first confession. And Harry’s incredibly worried from the furrowed brow look Ron’s giving him that he’s maybe pushed this too far. That Ron will not be as supportive as Hermione has been...

“When?” Ron demands, cooly but seriously, his face stony.

“Friday night…” 

Ron’s eyes narrow slightly, but he seems less mad, more exasperated.

“You mean the weekend just gone? You…” Ron grasps for the right word, “fucking arseholes,” Ron says sighing with disappointment, and dropping back in his chair. 

His posture has crumpled like the news has deflated him. 

“Was it a one-time thing?” Ron asks. “A mistake?”

“No,” Harry clarifies, and feeling very uneasy with the look Ron’s giving him, he reaches for his beer.

“Fucking hell, Harry,” Ron responds. “Poor Neville, he must be devastated.”

Ron makes no movement to suggest he’s leaving or that he’s going to punch or hex Harry, instead he too grabs his beer and takes a long thoughtful sip on his pint.

“I think he is, yeah,” Harry agrees.

Ron, also seasoned investigator, studies Harry carefully. There has to be more to this story. Harry’s always been a revelation and run kind of guy. He identifies the problem and springs into action to fix it. But the calm way he’s still sitting across from Ron, his brow knotted with the restraint of letting Ron’s reactions control the speed and direction of their conversation is telling. And then it makes sense. 

The running off the Holyhead. The gallant Head Auror insisting on the fair but expedited treatment of Ginny this afternoon, even the way they’d been during the conversation outside Harry’s office, the way he’d stood up for her…

This wasn’t just a one-time thing between Harry and Ginny. It might have started that way, but it’s more than that now. 

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me,” Ron laments, clearly still stunned. Ron exhales deeply, leaning his elbows heavily on the ancient wood table as he takes a sip of his beer. “Well, if I’m being honest, I guess I can’t say I’m not one hundred per cent surprised. I mean, I wouldn’t have expected this exactly...this is unlike both of you, but it has always felt a little unresolved with you and Gin.” 

He’s fishing. Harry knows it. They fucking know each other’s interview tactics so well they can’t help it.

“How do you mean?” Harry asks objectively, and Ron smiles a little as it is exactly the response he expected from Harry, trying to find out what cards the other person is willing to play. 

Well, Ron can do that. Ron has been wanting to for a very very long time. 

“Well...the amicable break-up thing. It’s shite, isn’t it? Why would you and Gin buy a house two months before you broke up if you were falling out of love? I always thought that was mental, but I was in a coma when it all happened, and by the time I was on the mend Christmas had come and gone, Ginny had moved out, and you were in full workaholic mode.” 

Harry frowns. Fuck, the house. The house had always been a loose end. It still was, and Harry had to add it to the list of serious things Ginny and he had to talk about. 

“Okay,” Harry acquiescence, “admittedly, the break up was a shock to me too. It may have been more of Ginny’s idea than mine.”

“So, you just let her end your relationship after ten years together?” 

Harry frowns. “Ron, that’s not what I meant. It wasn’t an easy decision, for either of us.”

Ron gives him a sympathetic look. “I know Ginny means a lot to you, but we both know you’re a bit of a numpty when it comes to Ginny, and you always have been.”

“Fuck off,” Harry laughs, and it’s part amusement and part relief that Ron’s preference is to tease him. 

“Am I wrong?” Ron asks, eyebrow raised and Harry shrugs.

“No,” Harry admits. “You’re not wrong. She does mean a lot to me. And I don’t always make the smartest decisions when it comes to her. But something happened between us and we couldn’t be together anymore. And, she left me.” 

Ron frowns. “I knew there was more to it than the,  _ ‘we’ve grown apart’ _ story. But neither of you wavered. You and I have never kept secrets before. Not big ones. And I figured when you were ready to tell me what happened, you would. But then Gin and Neville got together and I figured that it didn’t matter anymore. If you and Ginny were determined it was over, it was over. But this doesn’t feel very over.” 

Harry shakes his head. “It’s not over between us. Not really.”

“Does Hermione know the full story?” 

“She does. And we’ve wanted to tell you too but Hermione only found out by accident, and the truth is, it’s not just a secret we’ve kept from you, we’ve kept it from everyone.”

“I’m really glad you’ve had Hermione to confide in,” Ron says earnestly, giving Harry a sympathetic look.

Harry stares back at Ron, mouth open in disbelief. 

“Are you having me on?” Harry balks. “You’ve never once been this calm and reasonable about something I haven’t told you. You didn't speak to me for two days once because I didn’t tell you that I brought Molly a birthday gift. Not to mention the cold shoulder you gave me for the majority of the fourth year about the bloody Triwizard Tournament…”

Ron beams and shrugs. 

“Well, you made me look like a right tit, didn’t you? I was already on Mum’s blacklist after sneaking Hermione into my bedroom for an innocent clothes-on sleepover when we were only covering for you and Ginny who were  _ actually _ shagging in her room, and a nice gift for Mum would have helped smooth everything over. Fourth-year is long resolved.  _ Hormones _ .”

“Well, you should have brought your Mum a birthday gift yourself then shouldn’t you?” Harry counters with a smile.

“You always were her favourite,” Ron replies rolling his eyes. “Still are actually. She asks after you constantly.  _ What’s Harry up to? Is he dating anyone? Is he eating right? Why is he living with Draco…blah blah blah? _ Can you owl or floo the woman, please and put her out of her misery? She’s not above just showing up at your office you know, especially with Dad’s on the same floor and Christmas only a few weeks away...”

Harry chuckles and nods. “I will, I’m sorry. I haven’t seen her in ages. I miss your parents, I do. I didn’t just lose Ginny when we broke up, you know? I lost all of you, the only family I’ve ever really known. Your parents, your brothers...your nieces and nephews...they were my family too. And I’ve missed everyone…”

Harry hadn’t expected to get so introspective, but a heavy smothering weight seems to have lifted from his chest. He can breathe again. 

“I know, mate,” Ron replies gently, “We’ve missed you too. You’ve been my best friend longer than not. I know what happened with Gin, breaking up after so long together, it must have been hard, but you  _ pushed _ us away…we never forced you out...”

Harry nods, unable to find the right words for the earnest look Ron’s giving him. He had never retreated from the Weasley’s lightly; it had crushed him. They were the only family he’d ever known. 

“I thought you married your best friend?” Harry teases and Ron laughs.

“She’s my second best friend. But don’t tell her I said that. She’ll kill me,” Ron smiles. “Now are you going to tell me what really happened with Gin? And if you said anything about being responsible for what the fuck happened in that bloody raid I’ll Bat Boogy Hex you myself. I was too slow, Pritchard got me before I got him, and that ended my career. You wouldn’t have been able to do bollocks about it even if you’d been there and I’ve told you that about a million times…”

Ron’s hanging on Harry’s reply with raised eyebrows, almost challenging him not to tell him. Ron’s cornered him and Harry knows that once the next sentence leaves his mouth, nothing will ever be the same. And then, without worriedly arranging the words in his head to explain perfectly, Harry just says it.

“Gin had a miscarriage; the night before the raid. We lost a little boy; he was 16 weeks along.” 

Ron’s complexion goes arctic white as the colour drains from his face. A son. They lost a son. The finally devastating piece clicks into place and Ron feels his insides plummet with grief. For two years his sister and his best mate have answered questions about their relationship with a strange disconnected but bizarre story of a mutual breakup, all the while hiding such a massive loss. 

“I’m…” Ron falters, mouth opening and closing silently a few times as he tries to process the confession. He clears his throat and a solemn look settles on his freckled face. “I’m so sorry mate. That’s, honestly, fucking awful,” Ron finally manages to say, and Harry breathes a sigh of relief, not having realised he’d been holding his breath. 

“Yeah, it was,” Harry admits sadly, eyes on his pint of beer. “Still is really. Ginny’s going through a lot still. It’s still very raw. Keeping it to ourselves has made it harder to work through.”

“I can’t imagine...I feel a bit sick. I’m so sorry, both of you have had to go through this, without any support.” 

Harry nods slowly, and he realises his eyes are watering a little. 

Ron sniffs back his own tears and he and Harry chuckle a little at the fact they are both tearing up in a pub at Tuesday lunch.

“You and Ginny still love each other don’t you?” Ron asks kindly. “You never broke up because your relationship was over. It was out of grief?”

Harry nods, removing his glasses to swipe at his damp eyes. 

“Our affair wasn’t about Neville or the wedding. Ginny and I have been avoiding this damage in our lives for so long...it just bubbled over. We didn’t mean to hurt anyone…We were taught at the Academy about dealing with death and gruesome cases, and torture and murder...and I’ve seen much more than my fair share of death between the War and Auroring...I mean we all have...but I could live a thousand years and never been prepared for losing my own kid, you know?” 

Ron frowns and nods in understanding. “No, I imagine nothing could prepare you for that.” Ron sips on a mouthful of his beer and watches Harry silently swirl his half-empty glass in the ring of condensation on the tabletop. Harry’s eyes are on the glass, his gaze soft as if he is lost in thought. 

“Do they know why your baby died?” Ron finds himself asking.

Harry meets Ron’s eye and shakes his head. They are full of sadness.

“Not really. Just that his heart stopped,” Harry says. “At 16 weeks he was as big as an apple, or so the Nurse told us.” 

Ron smiles. “You know Hermione had a muggle book that she used to track Rosie’s progress every week too, all the way from a poppy seed to watermelon. Isn’t it odd we compare babies to fruit sizes? Like,” Ron mimics a high pitched sugary voice, “ _ ‘Surprise, your baby is the size of a banana!’  _ or  _ ‘This week it’s a cantaloupe! _ ’” 

“It’s very odd,” Harry agrees with a smile, Ron’s memory prompting his own. “I brought Gin one when we first found out about the baby, that tracked the baby’s growth based on Quidditch equipment? It was hilariously unhelpful really, but Gin loved it. Every Monday she’d leave me a random assortment of equipment on the dining table before she left for training, announcing that week’s size. Week 16 mean he was the size of two snitches with retracted wings.” 

Ron smiles softly because comparing the size of their baby to quidditch equipment couldn’t be more Harry and Ginny, but even though it’s a beautiful memory, it saddens Ron. He’ll never get to meet his little nephew, his baby sister's child. Are they fucking arseholes for having an affair, for hurting Neville? Yes. But could he ever understand what they were going through? No. And, he secretly prayed he never had to. 

Ron twirls that last of his beer around the glass. “Thank you for telling me. It can’t have been easy after all this time.“

“It was harder lying about it if I’m being honest,” Harry admits with a heavy sigh. “I’ve wanted to tell you since I found out I was going to be a Dad. But Ginny was terrified that telling people we’d lost a baby meant something was wrong with her. And she couldn’t take everyone’s pity…” Harry swallows thickly. “And I couldn’t go against her wishes no matter how hard it got between us. I couldn’t hurt her like that.”

Harry scrubs a hand across his now exhausted face and looks up at Ron. 

“I’m sorry. For not telling you. For keeping you at arm's length. For lying.”

Ron’s brow knits together anxious, and he shakes his head.

“You have nothing to apologise for, mate. After all these years, surely you know me better than that. We’ve been through so bloody much. Going to take more than that to do our friendship in, innit?”

Harry is seated with his back to the door so he doesn’t see a harangued Ginny arrive at the pub, her face slightly flushed from the cold outside as she makes her way through the rooms looking for them. She hesitates when she sees her brother and Harry, Harry slightly slumped in his chair like he’s had the heaviest of days, but Ron offers her a warm smile and waves her over. 

“Gin’s here,” Ron tells him, and Harry scrambles a little to pull himself together while Ron gets to his feet, greeting Ginny with a large comforting hug before she can speak. 

“You know I love you, right?” Ron tells her with a lopsided grin, placing a brotherly kiss in her hair, as he wraps his arms around his baby sister in an impossibly tight bear hug. 

It’s crushingly secure, and warm, and wonderfully lovely that Ginny doesn’t even bother with the charade of squirming. She just stands there, eyes closed, relishing in the warmth and holding on tightly.

When she’s released from Ron’s embrace a long moment later, Ginny gives Harry a small, but warm smile. 

“Hi, I’m not interrupting am I?” She asks, and he shakes his head and smiles warmly back at her, indicating to her that he’s told Ron everything. 

There is no warning or worry in his gaze, just sadness and grief, both things Ginny can understand. 

“No, perfect timing,” he says gently. He gestures to the empty chair between his and Ron’s, designating for Ginny to join them. 

Ron and Ginny take their seats, and Ron’s eyes Harry carefully when he notes that even though the chair was situated closer to Harry’s anyway, Ginny’s moved it even closer. 

She gives her brother a nervous look the moment she’s settled.

“We’re okay aren’t we?” She asks softly and chews at her bottom lip nervously as she waits for his answer. 

“Yeah, more than,” he reassures her with a comforting smile. 

“How’s Neville?” Harry asks kindly, and Ginny frowns grimly pressing her fingertips to her aching eyes to relieve some pressure in her head.

“He’s already got Augusta cancelling everything for the wedding. I just have my side of the guest list to tell. It went better than expected really, but I feel like I’ve apparated ten too many times. I'm so disoriented and hungry right now.”

“We can order you some lunch?” Ron suggests, but there are some chips left on Harry’s plate and Harry pushes it towards her. 

“To tie you over,” he suggests, and Ginny takes it gratefully, dobbing a cold chip in sauce and popping it in her mouth. 

“Are you going to feed me all of your lunch’s Potter?” She smiles and he shrugs. 

“I’m fine Ron really,” Ginny says, noting the fretful look on Ron’s face, “I’ve got to go and see Mum now. Dad’s got the afternoon off, he was going to go and pick up the Marquee from Bill and Fleur’s, so I need to get moving before they get too far into it. I just wanted to make sure everything was going alright here before I left for Devon?” 

Ron jumps in before Harry can say anything, and Harry’s grateful.

“Gin, he’s told me everything. And I’m very sorry for your loss. I wish I’d been there for you both, you know?” 

Ginny gives her brother a kind, honest smile. 

“Ron, honestly, I’m sorry we never told you until now. Harry was desperate to, but I’ve never been able to find the words. And for that I’m sorry. I was so worried if we told people it’d turn into a scandal, and I didn’t want to see it in the papers or the people we love to pity us. I just never realised that keeping it secret would destroy so much...” She looks at Harry. “...or hurt each other.” 

Ron leans forward, looking at his younger sister intently.

“I always want to know, Gin. If your life is falling apart, I always want to know. And I’ll always want to help.” He looks at Harry. “That goes for both of you, okay?” 

“Okay,” Ginny agrees, fishing for another chip.

Ron raises a questioning eyebrow at Harry, really hammering home his point, and Harry nods in acquiescence. 

“Okay,” he says. 

Ginny smiles softly, appreciating the way her older brother thinks he could have fixed anything. The truth was, at the time they were too broken to even try. But, things were different now, infinitely different from even last night, and now that Ginny was free of the guilt of what had happened with Neville, even tomorrow’s papers couldn’t dull the latent buzz of excitement that she and Harry had just one small hurdle left. The rest of the Weasley’s. 

“Had you picked out a name?” Ron asks thoughtfully, looking between the two of them. 

Ginny smiles. “Frederick James Potter,” she says softly. “Baby Fred.” 

Ron beams. “Frederick James Potter...what an amazingly mischievous little ankle-biter he would have been.”

“Genetically impossible not to be really,” Harry concedes dryly, making Ginny laugh with a sense of spark back in her demeanour. 

And Ron would be lying if he didn’t feel a genuine twinge of sadness to think that it was the first time in a long time he’d heard Ginny laugh so earnestly and genuinely, with the man she shared her loss with. 

Ron exhales deeply and gets to his feet, draining the last of his beer in a couple of gulps.

“I should go and track down Neville, make sure he’s okay,” he says. “And, give you both a minute to talk before you tackle Mum and Dad.”

“Thank you,” Ginny says earnestly. “Neville said he was going home to Slough this afternoon, then heading back to Hannah’s tonight. Can I ask you a favour, can you please get the rest of my things from his place today? I only grabbed a couple of items when I left and I’m running low on clothes. Neville said he’s packed it all up. It just needs to be collected.” 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll drop it off at Mum and Dad’s on my way home…”

Ginny grimaces awkwardly in reply.   
  
“I’m not staying at Mum and Dad’s, I’m actually staying at Grimmauld Place.” 

Ron frowns in confusion. She artfully hadn’t said with Harry. Which is the truth of the situation.

“Ginny, you can’t move in together the week you’d meant to marry another bloke. I don’t care how much you want to be together again…”

“How do you know we want to be together again?” Harry asks.

“Really, mate?” Ron asks incredulously. “Because I have  _ eyes _ , and you’ve barely looked in another direction since she arrived.” 

“I haven’t moved in, it’s not like that,” Ginny replies, but Ron just rolls his eyes. 

“Ron, the place has seven bedrooms…” Harry adds coming to Ginny’s aid, but Ron just raises a sceptical eyebrow.

“Right, and where are you sleeping, then?” Ron asks Ginny. 

Ginny smiles. “In one of the six guest bedrooms.” 

“Which one?” Ron counters. 

“Ron, honestly,” Ginny replies with a sense of discouragement that Harry’s sure sounds suspiciously like Molly Weasley admonishing her sons. 

“Gin. Which one?” Ron asks, drawing out each word slowly, not deterred in the slightest by the hint of Molly Weasley mannerism colouring their conversation.

“The one next to Harry’s…” Ginny snaps rolling her eyes and Ron grins triumphantly. 

“Look,” he says, “I’ll get your stuff from Nev’s but the less I know about everything else right now the better. Not that I’m against anything—”

“Ron, it’s not like that. We’re not about to jump into bed together…” Harry finds himself saying with little consideration, prompting another raised eyebrow from Ron and a peculiarly suppressed grin from Ginny. 

He wants Ron to know he’s serious about this with Gin. He’s not just looking for a shag. 

But Harry commits to the point by adding, “... _ again _ .” 

He gives Ginny a flustered look and she just smiles back at him endearingly. Not his finest moment. And not entirely helpful or convincing.

“I’ve heard that before,” Ron says drolly. “It took you three days to get back together after the war. I’m just saying, both of you...be careful...with each other.” 

“Well noted. I’ll keep my hands to myself, Ronald,” Ginny teases, flexing her fingers, and aside from a stern look back at her from Ron, Harry reddens. 

“Right well,” Ron replies, hastily changing the subject away from his sister’s sex life. “We’re going to the match tomorrow night for Match Club, will you come?” he asks Harry. “You can bring your protégé.”

Ginny grins. “Malfoy supports Montrose,” she says, scrunching up her nose in objection. “So he can come but he’ll have it be on his best behaviour at The Harpy.” 

Ron makes a disgusted face at Harry. “Bloody hell, the company you keep, Potter.” 

She points to Harry’s half-full pint of beer, and he hands it to her. She takes a sip. 

Harry smiles. “I’ll be there,” he agrees, smiling at Ginny. “If that’s okay?”

“Sure,” she replies with a grin, and Ron, now in real danger of eye strain, rolls his eyes again. 

It’s been two years since Ron’s seen them anywhere near this amicable with each other, and while it feels natural and less tense than any other time he’s seen them since they’d broken up, he’d also forgotten about the ‘heart eyes’ looks. The giant ‘heart eyes’ looks they are both now giving each other. That’s his cue to leave.

Ron moves behind Ginny’s chair and leans down to kiss the top of her head in such a caring manner that it makes Ginny smile. 

“Don’t tell anyone I said this — I love you. And I’m proud of you, no matter what the papers or vultures say about you.” 

“I love you, too,” Ginny tells him sincerely. “Even if you insist on wearing pink and orange in public.” 

“It’s marketing,” Ron says with a waggle of his eyebrows, pointing at the large WWW monogram on the left side of his chest. “I’m promoting the shop.” 

“You’re promoting your inability to blend in,” Ginny says. 

Ron laughs. “Well, unlike you pair, I don’t need to find ways to blend in. I’m barely even recognised anymore, and I love it.”

“Ugh,” Ginny grumbles, handing Harry back his beer. 

“I’ve missed you too mate,” Ron tells Harry, clapping him on the shoulder. “See you at six tomorrow at The Harpy, with or without Malfoy.” 

“See you then,” Harry says, waving him off, and watching as the magenta and orange dressed form of his best mate retreats through the pub. 

“Should we get out of here too?” Ginny suggests, noticing that there are a few wizards at a table nearby curiously looking their way. 

The last thing either of them needs right now is to be spotted so blatantly at a wizarding pub alone together. The rumour mill would already be working overtime with the photos from this morning hitting the paper. 

Harry agrees, he really needs to get back to the office and see how Lestrange’s transfer has progressed. With the same protectively authority he’d had at the Stadium, Harry ushers Ginny back through the wizarding pub and out into Muggle London, a hand resting in the small of Ginny’s back. 

They fall in an easy step beside each other as they head back in the direction of the Ministry of Magic, Ginny’s fingers tangling in the cuff fabric of Harry’s blazer. It’s not holding hands, but it’s close, and it’s almost as intimate. 

“How did everything really go with Neville?” Harry asks, knowing Ginny might have sanitised their conversation a little in front of Ron.

Ginny takes a deep breath and wrinkles her nose a little with uncertainty. 

“It could have gone better. We think Augusta tipped off the papers,” Ginny says dejectedly. “She never much liked me. Said I needed a real job, a job that I could do for the rest of my life, and that it wasn’t very  _ ladylike _ to come home covered in mud all the time. She was always really proud of Hannah for saving up to study Healing and spending her career helping people, not faffing around on a broomstick all day.” 

“Nothing like some old-world gender stereotyping and prejudices to make your new granddaughter-in-law feel comfortable,” Harry frowns. “Not to mention capitalising and manipulating her reputation...” 

“I think she was just trying to protect Neville,” Ginny counters, “in her misguided way. It seemed to go well with Ron though, yeah?” Ginny says after they cross the street, putting more and more distance between them and The Leaky Cauldron. 

“Were you expecting it to go badly?” 

Ginny wrinkles her nose. “Were you?” 

“Honestly? Yes,” Harry says dryly, and Ginny chuckles.

“Me too,” she admits. 

He gestures to the adjacent alleyway and they step out of the stream of heavy foot traffic and into relative privacy and anonymity of the alleyway behind an old chippy and dry cleaners, and a large pile of old boxes. It’s the least romantic location for them to have any conversation, and somehow it’s oddly perfect because in this alleyway, in the middle of muggle London, no one cares who they are. 

“Ron was pissed off when I told him about us,” Harry says. “He said he always suspected we lied about why we broke up and he was angry that we’d hurt Neville.”

Ginny exhales, looking down at her scuffed trainers. “That’s fair,” she admits, blowing out a breath and looking up to the gloomy, overcast sky, her guilt spiking a little. “I guess we should expect that shouldn’t we?” 

Harry steps closer, gently and comfortingly intertwining his fingers with hers. 

“But then he was floored when I told him about Fred,” Harry tells her gently. “Ron didn’t come back to the Ministry after his recovery because he wanted to spend more time with Rosie; he wanted to put her first. I think that played on his mind when I told him. We lied about our breakup to protect Fred. And he understood.”

Ginny makes a face like she’s trying to blink back tears, and Harry gently rubs his thumb against the back of her hand comfortingly. 

“I’m fine,” she says with a sniffle, and he smiles. 

“I teared up in the pub,” Harry admits, “Ron and I both did.” 

“You did?” Ginny asks, and Harry nods vigorously. 

“Yeah. Big time,” he says in mock nonchalance with a shrug, and Ginny laughs, swiping at watery eyes, before she moves closer, standing on tip-toes to gently reach up and cradle his bearded jaw between her hands tenderly. 

“Thank you,” she says softly, and he nods, his gaze flitting between looking her deeply in the eyes, and her wind-chapped lips. 

“We’re not taking this particularly slow are we?” he asks softly, winding one arm around her waist, holding her close, and Ginny smiles. 

“No, I don’t think so,” she says shaking her head.

Harry leans down, gently pressing his lips against hers for a brief moment before Ginny sighs softly. And then, they’re kissing in a dirty alleyway like nothing else in the world matters. 

A wolf whistle from a muggle passerby has them breaking apart a few moments later, Harry chuckling as Ginny groans with mortification, her forehead pressed against his stubbly chin as they take a beat. 

“I’m sorry, but I need to go,” Harry says apologetically with his own groan of annoyance, checking his watch reluctantly. “I’ve got a meeting at three-thirty with the Department of Magical Games and Sports I can’t miss…are you okay to see you parents? Did you want me to come?...”

Ginny smiles. “I think it’s best I do that one on my own. On my own, but not without you. Does that make sense?”

He nods. He gets it. This is her trying to protect him now. There are no rules for this, no best way of handling it. And this feels right for them. She’ll tell her parents; he can see them later when they’ve absorbed everything. Ron was one thing, but Molly and Arthur may have a lot of private remarks that Harry necessarily doesn’t need to hear. 

“Makes perfect sense,” he tells her, squeezing her hand. “Fill me in as soon as you can, yeah?” 

“Yes, I’ll see you later tonight,” she reminds him. “Is your meeting about the Quidditch finals?” 

Harry grins at the way her face lights up at the mention of Quidditch finals.

“Yes. Extra security requirements this year after last year’s mess. Are you playing?” he teases, giving her a final squeeze, and then letting her step out of his embrace. 

“Hopefully,” she tells him with a wink. “It’ll be my last finals season as Vice.” 

Harry’s brow knits with concern. Had something happened with the team that he’d missed? 

“What, why?” 

Ginny purses her lips, trying to not smile. “Gwen’s retiring, and she wants me to promote me to Captain. I found out this morning. You’re the first person I’ve told.” 

Harry’s eyes shine with pride, his whole face lighting up with elation. “Captain? Seriously? Gin, that’s brilliant! You’re brilliant!”

Ginny grins. “Seriously,” she says, still not believing it herself. “I mean I don’t want Gwen to go, but…”

“But you deserve this,” he tells her enthusiastically. “You’ve worked so hard for this. I’m so proud of you.” 

“Yeah?” she beams back at him. She can’t explain how incredible it is to hear those words. Neville, even though he was a good partner, was never that excited about Quidditch. He was proud of her, but he wasn’t Quidditch crazy like Harry was known to be. She had to consider, after all, that had her and Harry not played on the Gryffindor team together, they might not have even started a relationship. 

He grins, debonairly stepping in to kiss her again. 

“You’re going to kick so much arse, Weasley, I’m going to need to up security tenfold.”

Ginny laughs as his lips brush against hers. It’s a softer kiss this time, more gentle, but just as tender. It’s full of promise, but also a reluctance to leave. Outside this alleyway, they are different people. And a media storm is still brewing. 

“How about I walk you back to the office?” Ginny suggests not quite ready to leave this bubble yet, and Harry nods. 

They fall in step beside each other again, both smiling intermittently at each other as they walk. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> A little note about comments -- please please please please if you read, please leave me a comment. I greatly appreciate your feedback xo


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